


Karma's Gonna Come Collect Your Debt

by JaggedEmeraldsOfGold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Grace headcanons, Angel Wings, Angst, Archangel Headcanons, But I focused too much on fixing canon, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester is a good brother, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Enochian (Supernatural), Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Fix-It of Sorts, Gabriel needs a- you know what you get it, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Gabriel (Supernatural), Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I mean I am complaining, I treat archangels a lot more seriously than canon does, I'd say this was Sam centric, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Has PTSD, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Sam Winchester Whump, Strong Language, Temporary Character Death (Winchesters), They all need hugs, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), i guess, no beta we die like everyone on this show, no worse than in canon though imo, still pretty Sam centric though, they do get a few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedEmeraldsOfGold/pseuds/JaggedEmeraldsOfGold
Summary: Sam is dead. Dean isn’t processing.And then Sam isnotdead, Lucifer is there, and they’re suddenly on a deadline- thirty one hours before their single way home literally ceases to exist. Jack needs to be kept away from Lucifer,Samneeds to be kept away from Lucifer, they need to get thirty three people through a rift miles away, and that’s not even mentioning the fuckingwarcurrently being waged all over this- literally -godforsaken planet.But Sam is alive, (alive, alive, Dean’s brother isalive), albeit having one continuous panic attack. This is fine.(It is so, so not.)OR: A retelling of Supernatural’s s13 ep22 “Exodus” told from Dean’s point of view, complete with all the nice fun trauma the writers love to ignore, a bunch of cool archangel headcanons, realistic character interactions, general badassery, characters actually using their brains, logic, and common sense, and a much, much more satisfying ending.
Relationships: Castiel & Gabriel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester & Lucifer
Comments: 45
Kudos: 131





	Karma's Gonna Come Collect Your Debt

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First, I’d like to say that this… was not supposed to be this long. I don’t write long things. I thought it was gonna be 4k, maybe 6k. I assured myself it would definitely at least be no longer than 10k. I still have no idea why the word count is what it is.
> 
> That being said, I absolutely despise splitting things into chapters. Furthermore, this was not written to be multichapter. So now you get a 35k one shot. I’m sorry.
> 
> Second, I, like many fans, feel a burning hot rage at the writers for completely erasing Sam’s trauma. Dude was tortured by Lucifer for 200 years? He’s not gonna be all quippy with him all of a sudden? Honestly thank god for Jared Padalecki’s wonderful acting and, you know, actually understanding and caring about his character. If it weren’t for him I feel like the show would be extremely off-putting, because like. Nobody seems afraid of Lucifer. They should be. He’s literally Satan. This is basically a fix it for 13x22 “Exodus”, written a lot more realistically, and it gets pretty canon divergent at the end… I mean, I don’t hate s13’s ending, but… I do think mine's better.
> 
> If any dialogue seems familiar, it’s probably because it is- especially in the first half, I took some things directly from episodes 13x21 “Beat the Devil” and 13x22 “Exodus”.
> 
> A few final things: Title and lyrics taken from “Wolf In Sheep's Clothing” by Set It Off. I don’t own Supernatural or any of these characters, I just love hurting them. And lastly, I feel I should mention that english isn’t my first language although I speak it fairly well, so please excuse any errors you find. (Don’t hesitate to comment them if you find any though so I can go in and correct them!)
> 
> Alright, I’m done. Go forth and enjoy my mediocre writing!

_Beware, beware, be skeptical_  
_Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold_  
_Deceit so natural_  
_But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s. He’s gone.”

It came out as a rasp, and Dean distantly realized that he wasn’t sure when the last time he’d had water was. His hands were frantically grabbing, pawing at his mother's arms, and god, Mary was right in front of him, he was _touching_ her, and this was everything he had dreamed of for the past six months, hell, his whole _life_ and….

And he felt _nothing_.

Because- oh, god, because-

_Sammy_.

He _wasn’t_ though. Dead. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t. He wasn’t.

Except. Every time Dean closed his eyes, there it was. The blood, spilling from a jagged bite in his neck like a sick, red, water fountain, gushing, so fast, so, so fast, why had it been going so fast, oh, god-

_Sammy_.

Dean ripped his eyes open, not having been aware that he had even closed them in the first place, and the memory of his brother's pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream of Dean’s name was replaced by Mary.

Who was looking at him in- shock, disbelief, concern, (anger? Protect Sammy, John had said. Protect Sammy. _(Oh, if only he knew how miserably you’ve failed.)_ )- because Dean had said, he’d just said-

“He’s- he’s- _Mom_ -”

_Sammy_.

Dean hung his head, collapsed, muscles shaking from overexertion, felt warm, rough, but gentle hands lowering him to his knees. Heard voices- concerned- footsteps, leaves shifting and twigs snapping (and _get up_ , his instincts urged. _Get up, or they’ll come for you and take you away, kill you, tear you apart, never let your guard down, never let your guard down,_ get up-) but Dean didn’t care, couldn’t care, didn’t react, ( _wouldn’t react, they could come for him and he wouldn’t fight, they could come for him and kill him,_ please-) but in seconds he could feel the presences around him retreating, and he sobbed, he sobbed, because-

“He’s, Sammy, he’s- _he’s_ -”

Because Sam was gone, ( _pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream_ ) and Dean _knew_ , he just _knew_ , he’d _felt_ the snap in his ribcage, a rubber band breaking, a bone cracking, he’d felt it at Cold Oak, he’d felt it at Stull, he’d felt it at that no-name motel when those hunters had pulled that trigger, and he’d felt it _then_ , in that cave, and he knew what it meant, _he knew what it meant-_

“He’s gone.”

_Sammy._

“He’s gone.”

_Sammy._

“He’s-”

_Sammy, Sammy, Sammy-_

“He’s gone.”

~~~*~~~

Dean had come back to himself, more or less, after a few (seconds, minutes, hours, days, _never, Sammy was, oh, god, Sammy was-_ ) minutes, and, well, and. He’d pulled himself away from Mary, (face red, wet, destroyed) staggered back, turned away, and he hadn’t looked at her since.

He couldn’t. 

He hadn’t even realized how similar they looked, Mary and Sam. And of course he deserved the pain that came with it, ( _he had failed, again, how many times is this now?_ ) but he also simply couldn’t bring himself to look at the person Sam had sacrificed himself for. Sam, who had wanted to get to know their mother more than anything in the world. Sam, who had felt like the odd one out in their family of three because both Dean and John had memories of Mary, both Dean and John had _known_ her, and he never had. Sam, who had felt like his second chance with her had been ripped away, Sam, who hadn’t given up hope that Mary was alive, Sam, who had- who was-

Gone.

And _Dean_ , the least deserving of any of this, was here. Alive. Again.

Dean had stumbled the short distance from the warding circle to the camp, and had busied himself with duties, doing whatever he was told, going where pointed. He didn’t know how long he’d been at it anymore. Over an hour, he guessed. Maybe two. Probably not three. Currently, he was helping someone carry a bucket. He didn’t know the person- they were of this world. He didn’t know where they were going, or the significance of what they were doing. All he knew was that his hands were gripping the wood, his steps stumbling over to some shack, and if he jerked his thumb up he’d get a sliver, and it would hurt, and maybe bleed, and remind him that this was real, he _wasn’t_ dreaming, that emptiness, brokenness deep in his ribcage was never going away-

He gripped the bucket tighter, keeping his thumb resolutely motionless.

(Nothing felt real. His brain had detached, had been left behind, somewhere in the woods outside this camp. Maybe even before, in the mines. He was in the water, deep, deep, drowning. Choking on air, sinking in syrupy thickness, clawing at the trees rising up around him, screaming at the sky.)

They’d all dispersed throughout the camp, doing various menial tasks before departure. This world was cold, lifeless, and the atmosphere slithered and rubbed over Dean's skin uncomfortably. It unsettled him. He wanted out. This camp had thirteen refugees- fourteen, now that… Margie? Maddie? The girl they’d saved from the vamps had joined them. From what Dean had picked up here and there, it turned out they still had some semblance of luck- if they’d arrived even a day later this camp would’ve been more or less empty. The refugees here were being moved to a bigger settlement, where they’d be safer, and they were leaving today.

Dean needed to talk to Mary. He needed to talk to Gabriel, and Cas, and Jack. They needed a plan, an actual plan, not the pitiful shambles of what they had now.

(But, Christ, he could not face them right now. He couldn’t stand to see the heartbreak, the grief, the accusation on their faces. Dean knew he’d failed. He’d failed so many times already, he knew, alright, _he knew,_ and he knew he deserved all the hate in the world, but he just couldn’t.)

In the meantime, Dean was trying to do anything and everything to keep his mind _here_ , at least somewhat grounded. He would rage, and claw, and despair, and tear everything to shreds, and go insane, and in the end, he knew, he’d float away. (And he would. He would let go. He would _let Sam go_. No demons. No angels. It’s the least he could do, at this point, to make up for everything. To make up for _failing_.) But that he would do in the Bunker, when everyone _(everyone remaining)_ was safe. That he would do when he wasn’t needed anymore. He had already failed _(again)_ in the worst way possible _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ but he _would not_ fail these people. Sure, Dean was existing on autopilot, but that autopilot being consisted of a literal lifetime of hunters instincts, awareness, and skills- would have to be enough.

By the time Dean had dragged himself into the camp an hour or two ago leaving Mary kneeling and alone in the warding circle, everyone had dispersed. Gabriel was nowhere to be found, but Dean knew he’d be here if needed. They had come to a mutual understanding- Dean didn’t hate him, and would work with him, fight with him. Gabriel didn’t hate Dean, and would in turn work and fight with him. It was less than whatever Sam had ( _had_ had, because Sam was gone, _Sammy was gone-_ ) with the archangel, but what it boiled down to was that, basically, they were allies, on the same side.

(Dean was dimly surprised when Gabriel hadn’t gone to immediately meet his nephew, but that surprise had vanished when he remembered the shocked look of horror, _devastation_ even, on the archangels face when Sam had- _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ when _it_ had happened. He was probably feeling some form of grief, Dean belatedly realized, and Dean didn’t really know how to feel about that.)

(Not that he could, even if he wanted. Feel anything, that is. He was broken, completely and utterly, because Sammy, _Sammy-_ )

Castiel was with Jack. Mary, now, too, he was pretty sure. Dean had heard Jack’s scream of despair. Had registered Jack’s frantic subconscious switch to Enochian as Dean had sunk uselessly to the ground with Mary. Upon entering the camp some time ago Dean had seen them, Cas and Jack, collapsed on the ground to the side, far enough away that they were technically in the woods outside the camp, but still close enough that they were aware of what was happening- a tactical decision made by the seraph, Dean was sure. The single glance Dean had spared towards them he had pulled away just before making eye contact, and he hadn’t looked that way again since.

(And he wasn’t entirely sure why. They were his family. They should grieve together. But it wasn’t _right_ , would never be right anymore, because, _because-_ )

_(Sammy.)_

(Because if Sam were here, they would all be together. They would be celebrating. They would be the happiest any of them had been for the past he didn’t know how long. And it wasn’t right, that Dean should have that and Sam was dead.)

They came to a sudden halt, and Dean was jerked more or less out of his thoughts. He glanced around _-small cabin with five people mingling outside to his right, forest to his left, open space behind him; no immediate danger-_ then up at the person in front of him. Black curly beard and dark, tired, weary eyes were watching him from under equally dark bangs. They set the bucket down. The person looked like they wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, they simply settled on nodding at Dean, then carefully brushing past him as they left to go do another meaningless task. 

“Dean.”

Dean shut his eyes. He really should’ve expected this. Alright, well, she was here now, at least he didn’t have to force himself to seek her out anymore. Might as well go for it. He parted dry lips, took a deep breath of the (gritty, cold, _wrong_ ) air, said:

“I’m going back for his body, Mom. I’m going alone.”

Mary was silent behind him, like she’d expected this. He hears her breathe in shakily, then out. Wonders if she’s gotten used to this atmosphere, this world. Wonders if she even _wants_ to go back, now that- with- because-

_(Sammy.)_

“Dean,” She starts, but Dean never gets to find out what she would have said, because there are bells ringing, the noise sounding too magical and out of place for this world, and people all around them are snapping to wary attention, Mary included, so Dean turns around and-

_(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_

Sam.

_(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_

_Sam._

_(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream-)_

_“Sammy?”_

He doesn’t know who says it. If it’s him, barely breathing as it is, or Mary beside him, or Jack or Cas who are suddenly there, or, hell, even Gabriel who has seemingly materialized to Deans left but really he probably just stepped out from behind that shack not too far away. 

It doesn’t matter who says it, though, because whoever they are, they’re wrong. Sam isn’t here. Sam can’t be, Sam is, is-

_(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_

Sam is standing in the entrance to the camp, mere yards away from Dean. Sam is pale- _really_ pale. Sam is shaking, trembling. Sam is _covered_ in blood- his entire neck, the left side of his jacket, half his face is splattered in it like the blood is some beast slashing it’s claws across his cheek. Sam is breathing, Sam is looking like he’s about to collapse, but Sam is _there_ , Sam is not dead, Sam is-

“Sammy?” Dean whispers again.

-alive.

“Sam.” That one was Jack, and Dean doesn’t need to turn to know the kid is full out grinning. 

Because Sam, Sam is alive, Sam is standing _right there_ , but he can’t be, because, because-

_(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_

Because Dean _saw_ all the blood, Dean _heard_ him go silent, Dean _felt the break in his chest, like someone stuck a gun under his skin and fired-_

He’d felt it. He had.

He’d felt it.

He… didn’t feel it anymore.

_How???_

And as if hearing his thoughts, as if their lives are one big cosmic joke, as if the universe gets a real good kick out of tormenting them, picking them up and wringing them out so that they have nothing left, and then slapping them back down and forcing them to go on, as if answering his unspoken question (and oh, how Dean now wishes he hadn’t glanced this particular gift horse in the mouth)-

_Lucifer_ steps out.

( _Speak of the devil_ , a snide voice in his head whispers. _Or, rather, think._ )

(Dean ignores it.)

In all fairness, it wasn’t the crack of twigs under the devils feet or the small intakes of breath around him that alerted him to this. No, Dean was too focused on his brother _(Sam, alive, breathing-)_ to be aware enough of his surroundings.

What really tells him is Sam. The sudden change in his stance from predator to prey, from victor to defeated. His eyes, shifting from relieved and hopeful, if a little exhausted, to terrified and ashamed. Those eyes, skittering away from Dean’s (because he’d been looking at Dean, because Sam was alive, Sam was _alive_ ) to look down at the ground, staying there.

It’s all that that leads Dean’s gaze to look over Sam’s shoulder at the figure strutting in like he owns the place, like he owns _anything_ but the deepest pits of Hell. To the figure that _should_ be tied up in the Bunker, worst case scenario, and dead, best case. To the figure that is supposed to providing them grace, a way back, the figure that, oh, _shit-_

“Hello, Son.”

_Lucifer._

~~~*~~~

“Hello, Son.”

The words were spoken quietly, yet somehow carried strongly throughout the entire place, as though Lucifer was standing right next to each and every one of them. They also seemed to somewhat jerk Sam back to attention, and with a terrified glance thrown over his shoulder he stumbled forwards, practically melting into Mary’s open arms.

Dean wasn’t processing.

Sam was _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ alive, and _Lucifer-_

That meant-

_(What?)_

(Sam. Rowena. The rift. _What happened?_ )

“Sam? What happened?” His voice was hoarse, again. He still needed water.

Sam seemed to consciously force his eyes open, stepping away from Mary. Still not looking at Dean. Looking anywhere but at Dean, it seemed. Eyes darted up, down, to the side, to Mary, back down.

“He uh.” Sam cleared his throat. He still hadn’t looked at Dean. “He brought me back.” At this, his eyes finally met Dean’s, albeit reluctantly, and he looked like he expected- what? For Dean to yell at him? Be angry? Accuse him of, of leading the Devil to them?

“It’s what I do.” 

Dean was snapped out of his thoughts by the words, eyes zeroing in on Lucifer, whose hands were clasped in front of him, self assured stance and falsely sheepish expression plastered on.

“It is _not_ what you-” Castiel all but growled, then cut himself off. “How did you get in here?”

“VIP pass, I’m with the band.” Lucifer let out a deceivingly nervous chuckle. He was met with silence. “Come on, shouldn’t you be thanking me? I- I gave Sammy an extra life!” He raised a hand, motioning towards them. Sam seemed to tense up even more- and how was that even possible, at this point?- and Mary took a step forward, subtly putting herself in between Lucifer and her youngest.

Good. That was… good. 

Dean still wasn’t processing.

Lucifer kept speaking. “Besides, what with my little bro here being a hot mess”- he waved a hand at Gabriel, whose glare didn’t waver- “I figured you’d need me. So I’m… here to join the team.”

He was….

_What?_

Dean didn’t miss the almost silent noise of despair that seemed to claw its way out of Sam's throat. He’d done a good job biting it back, to the point that it seemed even Mary, standing right next to him, hadn’t heard, but Dean was simply too in tune with his brother for it to go unnoticed.

Because Lucifer, Lucifer wanted-

“Your name is Jack.” Lucifer turned to his son.

“And yours is Lucifer.” And holy shit, Jack sounded so young, Jack _was_ so young, voice wavering, so uncertain, and suddenly everything slammed back into place around him.

“No. No no- No.” His feet were moving, and suddenly he was right by Cas and Jack and Gabe, right in front of Lucifer. “You don’t talk to him” -he jabbed a finger at Lucifer- “and you-” -he motioned to Jack- “-don’t listen to him.”

“Um. Don’t you think that’s his choice?” 

“No.” Castiel growled. And Dean could never be more thankful to Cas than he was in these moments. Cas agreed with him. Cas could help him handle this. It was fine. This was _fine_ , damn it.

Sam was alive, (Sam was _alive, Sam was alive-_ ) which meant this situation was salvageable, which meant-

Which meant.

This was fine.

“Are you trying to keep me from my son?” There was a little giggle in his voice, one that promised wrath and pain and screamed danger, _danger-_

“Oh well this, this is Kelly Kline’s Son.” Cas rebuked him, seemingly indifferent to his older brothers implied promises. “He’s nothing like you.” He went on, head tilted in challenge.

“Don’t say he’s nothing like me. I’m the only one who _understands_ him. This power he has? _I’m_ powerful. Dangerous. Ruthless.” Lucifer glanced at Jack. “In the… best sense, though.”

“No.” Dean shook his head, turned to Gabriel. “Kill him.”

He felt Gabriels nervous shift at the words. He brushed it off. Sure, Lucifer was his older brother and it probably made it only about a thousand times harder that they were millions -more?- years old and some of the first beings created. But Gabriel would kill him, if he had to. He would.

_(Like you could kill Sam? Really, by now you should be the leading expert in fratricide, and who can do it when.)_

Dean shoved the thoughts down.

Lucifer, meanwhile, seemed absolutely thrilled at the inaction following Dean’s command. He let out a laugh. “He can’t. He’s not strong enough.”

“Dean-” Gabriel cut himself off.

No, shit _no_. They had a problem. Killing Lucifer would get rid of the problem. _They needed to kill Lucifer._ He rounded on Gabriel.

“You’ve got the blade!”

“-stop it-” Jack whispered.

“He’s the Devil- Kill him!”

“Stop it!”

Jack’s plea-turned-shout was followed by the flapping of unseen wings, and when Dean turned to where the nephilim had been- sure enough, he was met with nothing but empty air.

_Shit._

“Well great. He does that when he’s scared. Way to go, ‘ _dad_ ’.”

Everything was _not_ falling apart. It wasn’t.

Jack. They needed to find Jack. They needed to watch Lucifer. Or, better yet, kill him.

“I’ll go look for him.” And Gabriel was gone before Dean could even turn towards him to demand he kill his older brother.

Still, though, that was at least one problem taken care of. Jack would be fine with Gabriel.

Dean turned back to Lucifer just as the Devil opened his mouth.

“I don’t understand all the hostility? You. Need. Me, I am a walking weapon. I know this Michael! Heck, I _beat him_. So how ‘bout a little ‘r’-’e’-’s’-’p’-’e’-’c’-’t’?”

Silence. Dean stood there, practically gaping with disbelief. Cas seemed to come back to himself first, though, stalking towards Dean to retrieve handcuffs out of Dean’s pack. 

“In case your innate evil overwhelms this newfound team spirit,” the seraph said, moving towards Lucifer, “you won’t mind wearing these then, will you?” He held out the angel cuffs. “You’re not at full power,” Cas reasoned. “These should hold you.”

Lucifer huffed, rolling his eyes a bit. Then extended his hands with a flourish. “Slap ‘em on.” 

And that was the second problem taken care of, more or less. Now they just had to make sure that Lucifer and Jack didn’t interact, and-

“So if you’re here, is the rift closed?” The voice came from behind him. Tentative. Exhausted. Determined.

_Sam._

Dean had forgotten he was here, somehow. Which was absurd. Because, because-

_(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_

(Because Sam was alive, Sam wasn’t dead, _Sam was alive._ )

Dean turned back towards his brother. Sam had stayed back and silent with Mary throughout the entire exchange, not moving any closer to Lucifer than he already was, and he didn’t seem to plan to- move closer, that is- body language practically screaming “flight risk”.

Dean elected to ignore that for now. If Sam wanted away from here, he had a right to be. 

Dean also elected to ignore the weakly hidden quaver he’d heard in Sam’s voice when he’d spoken.

“No it’s open,” Lucifer answered. Because- right, Sam had asked, he’d asked….

About the rift. 

Rowena.

Was she alright?

“I left Rowena some grace.”

Well that didn’t tell him much.

“So you have…” Lucifer continued. “I’m thinkin’... thirty one hours, give or take?”

Thirty one hours. _Thirty one hours._ That was less than two days. They….

Thirty one hours.

Dean didn’t question the specificity of the number, angels were literal beings, and Dean’d grown used to it over the years with Castiel. If an angel said they had thirty one hours, then they had thirty one hours.

Dean set his watch.

~~~*~~~

Cas was with Lucifer under the strict instructions of _“Watch him.”_ Gabriel was, Dean assumed, with Jack. Mary had gone to help prep for the trek to the bigger camp they were making, although she wouldn’t be going with the refugees anymore. They were on a schedule now. Thirty one hours. And Sam was….

Sam was.

_(Alive. Sam was alive.)_

He was also… somewhere. _“Watch him.”_ Dean had told Cas, jerking his chin at Lucifer, and when he’d turned back around Sam was gone. Sam had always had the uncanny ability to move his gigantic self so _silently_ , it had always been one of the few things John had praised him for, and he infuriatingly used that ability in the worst possible situations. Like now. Mary hadn’t even heard him leave, and she had been right in front of him.

And now Sam was somewhere. Probably having a panic attack. Dean needed to find him.

(Nothing was falling apart. Sam was alive, _Sam was alive,_ and everything was fine.)

And Dean was fine. Except he needed to find his brother, touch him, hold him, at least _see him,_ because he _knew_ Sam was alive but _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ just a few hours ago he’d been _dead_ , Dean’d been walking around with that snapped, hollow feeling constantly reminding him of the fact, and-

Dean just needed to find Sam. That was all.

Leaves crunched loudly under his feet as he rounded the corner of yet another supply shack- this place had an abundance of them- to yet again find nothing. 

Well to be fair, nothing wasn’t exactly accurate. There was no Sam, sure, but there were two refugees, women- no, a woman and a young girl who looked vaguely familiar and couldn’t have been over nineteen. A teenager was a child in Dean’s books- packing beat up bags that probably once resembled functional backpacks full of food. Dean approached them.

“Have either of you seen-” He cut himself off. Back in their world, all he’d have to say was ‘brother’, and most hunters would know who he was talking about. Here, not so much. Just another thing about this place screaming _wrong, wrong, wrong-_

“I’m looking for someone,” He tried again. “Uh, long hair, got blood all over him, really tall?”

“Your brother?”

Dean blinked. How-? Oh. Looking at the girl once again, he realized she was the one they’d picked up outside the vamp nest. Molly. No- Margie? Maddie? Maybe.

“Yeah,” Dean answered her. “He’s…”

“Alive.” Maybe-Maddie nodded, offering him a small smile. She didn’t seem to be questioning it, but on second thought- angels were common knowledge here, he supposed people coming back from the dead might occasionally happen. “I saw him,” she went on, “behind there.” 

Dean turned to look where she pointed, eyes lighting on another building, maybe a dozen yards away, this one resembling a cabin- quaint, a place you’d expect to see in a park, or a campsite, something people would rent to stay in for fun. Not something that belonged in this world, or under this sky, always the same uncomfortable bright gray, always making Dean’s eyes burn if he looked at it too long.

He wondered if the angels had something to do with that, or if it was just simply another thing Dean couldn’t stand about this world.

Dean started towards it, barely remembering to throw a grateful “thanks” over his shoulder to the girl. Long stride made longer by the exponentially increasing _need_ to see his brother (alive, because he _was_ ), Dean quickly reached the cabin and rounded the corner to finally, _finally_ , see Sam.

Sam was sitting hunched over on a roughly slapped together wood structure supposedly resembling a bench, thousand yard stare firmly in place, and his phone in his hands. The top left corner of which, Dean notices with no small amount of anguish, is digging into the old scar on Sam’s left palm. The timer was up on the screen, loudly reading out “30:46:15”, “30:46:14”, “30:46:13”- Dean tore his eyes away from it, but could still feel the seconds trickling away. 

“Sam,” Dean breathed, and made his footsteps consciously louder as he stepped onto the wood porch and towards his brother. It had the desired effect, Sam’s eyes focusing and snapping up to meet Dean’s.

“Dean- hey.” He stood, gaze briefly flicking over their surroundings, triggering Dean to do the same _-trees and nothing else in front of Dean and behind Sam, cabin wall and closed door to his right, open space with eight- no, nine people milling about to his left and behind him; no immediate danger-_ “I was just.” Sam motioned to the phone in his hand, drawing both their eyes to the seconds ticking away under his fingers. A brief, mutual feeling of despair passed between them, but was broken when Sam looked back up at Dean, frowning.

“How’d you find me?”

Ah. So Sam _had_ been hiding. 

“Oh.” Dean glanced behind him, but maybe-Maddie was hidden from his view by now. “The uh, girl we saved from those vamps. Maddie. Margie.”

Sam huffed, amused. “Maggie?” He said, eyebrow raised.

“ _Yes._ ” Dean stopped himself from snapping his fingers. “That’s her name. She, uh, saw you over here. I was looking.”

Sam glanced down at that. “Yeah. Listen, Dean, I’m sorry about all this.” When he looked up again, Dean saw the same look he’d glimpsed earlier, in the clearing with Lucifer. Wariness, resignation, _shame_. And fuck, that was so, so wrong, it tore at Dean’s heart, but he didn’t have time to fix this right now.

_30 hours, 43 minutes, 50 seconds_ the phone in Sam’s hand read. Sam noticed Dean staring at it, and his thumb pressed down on the power button, the screen going black.

30 hours. Dean didn’t have time. _They_ didn’t have time.

So he went the short route. “Are you good?”

Sam looked for a second like he thought it was a trick question, but after a beat looked down at himself, seeming to take in with surprise the dried blood covering almost all his jacket. Visibly shaking it off, he answered, clearing his throat.

“I’m alive. Yeah.”

And how fucked up was it that that was their criteria for ‘good’?

_(Very.)_

Dean nodded, bringing his eyes up from where they had ventured along with Sam’s to all the blood (on his jacket, on his neck, on his hands, in his hair, on his face-) to meet his brothers (still wary, unsure, flickering) gaze. “Well, then you’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

Then, firmly ignoring the surprise that had flitted over Sam’s face at his words, Dean gripped his shoulder and pulled him forward into his chest, arms circling around and clasping together behind Sam, and this, _this_ was what Dean had needed. Sam was alive (alive, _alive_ ), trembling, breathing, melting into the hug. Dean closed his eyes and laid his hands flat on his brothers back, feeling the tremors in the taut muscles, feeling the dried blood that had somehow made its way to the back of the jacket, feeling the ridiculously long hair against his neck. 

Feeling his brother _alive._

Because he was not _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ dead, he was alive. Alive.

Sam was alive.

Dean pressed his chin further into Sam’s shoulder, and felt Sam lean his head against Dean’s. Felt Sam’s cool skin- but that didn’t mean he was dead, (he was alive, _he was alive_ ) Sam just had trouble getting warm, after… After Lucifer. And Lucifer had just revived him, had just trekked through the woods beside him. No, Sam wouldn’t be able to get warm for a while.

But that was alright, because Sam was alive _-alive-_ and they’d get back to the bunker, all of them- Jack and Cas and Mary and, sure, maybe even Gabriel and they’d be _fine_.

“I thought I’d lost you, man.” Dean admitted, and shut his eyes against the tears threatening to fall. They stayed like that for another few seconds before Dean forced himself to pull back, stepping away. 

And he hated bringing this up so soon, but Sam being alive only naturally lead to:

“What are we gonna do about Lucifer?”

Because this, this Sam needed a say in, and- and Dean brushed off the guilt Sam’s barely noticeable flinch at the name brought- Dean could use Sam’s input, because no matter how nauseous it made Dean the fact was that Sam _did_ know Lucifer extremely well- better, even, than some actual angels. Anything Sam said would go. Except, of course-

“I’ll handle him.”

-that.

“Sam-”

“No I _will_ , Dean, let me handle him.” And Sam was looking at him with that _look_ again, resigned and practically screaming ‘I don’t want to do this’. But Sam would. Dean had absolutely zero doubts about that. ‘Handling’ Lucifer is probably literally the last thing Sam would ever want to do, but, and it breaks Dean’s heart to know this, Sam is also convinced he has to. Because Sam never even forgave himself for the first apocalypse. Dean wasn’t sure if Sam saw this as his duty- as in Lucifer was his problem to solve, now- or his penance for all the mistakes he’s convinced he’s made. Or both.

What Dean was sure of, however, was that there was no way in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory or Earth that Dean would just step back and let Sam suffer through whatever ‘handling’ the Devil entailed. Because Sam had already ‘handled’ Lucifer once. On his own. And it had resulted in two centuries of torture for him, because- what? _“Oh you saved the world, good job, spin the wheel to get your prize! Oh look at that, two centuries of torture and a crash course in Enochian! What a win!”_?

No. Dean wasn’t going to stand back again and watch his brother go through something like that. Dean had already let Sam fix the problem on his own, and he never should have, because Lucifer had never been fully Sam’s fault. Sam hadn’t known he was breaking the final seal; as a matter of fact Sam had actively been trying to _stop_ Lucifer rising. And, hell, _(hah)_ , _Dean_ was the one who’d broken the first seal, anyways. And, of course, now, ideally Dean wouldn’t let Sam anywhere _near_ Lucifer, but he knew there was no way Sam would agree to that. And Dean also knew that he’d never really be able to stop his brother once Sam set his mind on something.

Sam was still looking at him, gaze filled with that sad, determined resignation. Dean sighed, closing his eyes.

“No, Sam.”

He was met with a short, stunned silence. Sam had obviously not been expecting that. _“This is my mess, Dean, let me clean it up!”_ echoed in Dean’s memories, and only served to harden his stance on the question.

“ _No,_ Sam,” He repeated, cutting off Sam’s shocked, stuttered rebuttals that had started up a few seconds ago. “No. Listen, just- listen.” He looked up, meeting Sam’s gaze, Sam, who looked completely thrown by this turn of events.

“I, I know how you feel about this, alright? And I’m not- I’m not saying I get it, because I don’t, I can’t possibly even imagine- but I do know. So, I’m not saying you won’t handle him. Sam, I know you will, I know you _can_ , this isn’t me doubting you I swear. But, man, you don’t _have to_. You _shouldn’t_ have to-” And Dean was angry now, but he lowered his voice back down from where it’d unbiddenly risen in volume. “-but I know you want to.” Dean looked at Sam, willing his brother to understand. “You’ll handle him, but not alone. _We’ll_ handle him, _together_ , because I’ll be right there beside you. Sam, you got that?”

Sam still looked like he wanted to argue, but Dean could see he was getting somewhere. “Together, Sam, like it should’ve been from the very damn beginning.” He cast his mind back again to years and years ago, to times they never spoke about, to times privy only to Sam, Dean, and Castiel. To before even the first apocalypse, to the demon blood, to the seals, to the angels, to Dean pushing Sam away, time and time again. Benching him, refusing to listen, refusing to help, hoping Sam would deal with it himself and the problem would go away. “ _We’ll_ handle him. Together, Sam- alright?”

Sam was staring at him, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Yeah, he hadn’t been expecting this. Just one more consequence of Dean’s past fuck ups. 

And then Sam was nodding, weakly at first, then stronger, and the pure relief that broke out over his face- when he, Dean didn’t know, realized that Dean was serious? That he wasn’t changing his mind, or backing down?- was such a drastic change from the pale, drawn and scared expression of just a few minutes before; it certainly did the job of assuring Dean that he’d done the right thing, this time around.

And he was sure. Because Sam should never have had to handle Lucifer on his own before, back then, in the first place, and Dean was sure as literal Hell not going to let that happen again. 

“Wait, Dean.” Sam grabbed his shoulder, turning him back from where he’d started to turn away back towards the center of camp. “There’s, uh. Something you should know.”

Dean frowned, already not liking the hesitance in Sam’s voice. His raised eyebrow prompted Sam to continue, although he looked like he really didn’t want to.

“I…. I don’t think the angel cuffs are holding him.”

Lucifer. Sam thought-

“What? Why? Cas said-”

“Cas _guessed_.” Sam said. “He said they _should_ hold him, and he was right. They should. But they’re not. I can feel it, Dean, his grace isn’t dampened. Trust me, I’d know if it was. I just don’t know why.”

Dean was silent, digesting this new problem. “Alright, well-” he cut himself off, thinking. “He seems to be playing along- wait, do you think he knows?”

Sam huffed nervously. “Oh, he knows alright. He’s playing along. I think he's hiding it from Cas and Gabe cause', you know, he'd expect them to notice. I don’t think he knows that _I_ know, though.”

“So… that takes away his element of surprise, I guess. At least.” He looks up at Sam. “There’s not much we can really do about this, though.”

Sam nods, looking like he expected that. “Yeah, no I- I know. But at least we know.”

_Yeah_ , Dean thought. _At least we_ know _he’s going to kill us._

Dean hated everything about this situation.

So, of course, that settled, he naturally changed the subject.

“Hey do you wanna, uhm.” Dean motioned to his neck. He didn’t want to mention the blood still covering Sam’s neck, splattered across his face. It seemed… _wrong_ , such a blatant reminder that Sam had _died_ , _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ and now he was back. No matter how many times it happened to Dean, or his brother, or, hell, even Cas- Dean would probably never get used to the surrealness of seeing a dead person walking. 

And they’ve all been dead already at least ten times over. 

“Uh, right.” Sam shook himself, glancing down at his ruined- because no amount of washing would get _that_ much blood out- jacket. “Do you know where, uh….” He looked around uncertainly.

Dean with no small amount of muted surprise realized he did, in fact, know where Sam could wash his face. “Yeah.” He’d still need a new jacket, though. “C’mon.” And he led Sam back the way he’d come.

He’d seen it earlier today, a little cluster of basins that had probably once been white, but were now covered in dust and caked with dirt. Set in a semi-circle a few meters apart from each other, there’d been a few people here and there between them, washing themselves and/or their belongings. He hadn’t given it much thought, (because at the time he’d thought Sam was- Sam had been- _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ but it had nevertheless registered in the hunters part of his mind- the part constantly taking in and analyzing information and his surroundings no matter how checked out the rest of him may be. 

He was pretty thankful for that, as they made their way silently but companionably through camp, he realized he already more or less knew his way around. Sam didn’t, and that was shown in tired eyes darting around, cataloging, stowing away information. Dean took the small distraction to watch Sam out of the corner of his eye (because his brother was alive, he was _alive_ ) for the few minutes it took to reach the basins.

Reaching the… -washing station? Dean really didn’t know how to refer to this place- both brothers’ eyes flicked around the area in practiced motions _-ten basins in front of him, about 3 feet wide, 2 feet long and 2 feet deep, not enough to hide in or behind, three other people currently using them, what looked like another cabin (temporary living space, maybe?) far off to his right, supply shacks to his left (where they had come from), and nothing and no one but trees and forest behind him; no immediate danger-_ before continuing towards them. Dean noted that there were fewer people than there had been last time. Most everybody was packing their belongings, getting ready to move.

They needed to find Mary. Cas, Jack, and Gabriel too. They needed a plan, they needed to head back.

Thirty one hours.

Sam crossed over to one of the basins- second to last on the right side -and picked up a rag that had been hanging next to it. Reluctantly slipping off his jacket, Sam wetted the rag, wrung it out half way, and started scrubbing the thick layer of dried blood off his neck, his face, his arms.

Dean stood by and let his brother clean up (clean the death off himself) in silence, gathering his thoughts. His eyes briefly wandered over to the three other people currently here, surveying them. A young boy, probably less than fifteen years old, but with eyes that spoke of things no fifteen year old should have ever seen or experienced, dirty red hair falling over too pale, too stretched skin, leaning his front against the basin farthest to the left, washing mud off his hands. A few feet down from the boy were two young women, dark skinned, braided hair, speaking softly to each other, washing dried blood off of a pair of angel blades. They raised their eyes to his in unison almost as soon as Dean looked to them, regarding him coolly. Dean looked away.

He didn’t blame them. He was, after all, a complete stranger that had brought not one, not even two, but _three_ angels into their camp, two of which were archangels and the third a powerful seraph. He doubted any of the people here would be friendly to them.

The soft conversation behind him started up again as he turned to Sam.

“We need to find Mom,” he said. “We need to leave. Get back.” ‘Before the rift closed’ went unspoken. “You need a new jacket.” Dean added as an afterthought, eyeing the bloodied bundle lying in the dirt.

Sam looked up at him, neck and face wet but _clean_ , slightly damp and more or less blood-free hair framing his face. He took his hands out of the basin, shaking the water off them, reached for a rag, but seemed to think better of it, opting to instead wipe his hands dry on his jeans. And- yeah, Dean conceded. His jeans were, even already covered in dust and dirt, still noticeably cleaner than the rags hanging on the sides of the basins.

Sam smiled slightly. “Yeah….” He breathed, then full out grinned, glancing around the place in, yes, recoiled wariness- so did Sam feel it too? The sharp _wrongness_ of the air, the abhorrent revolt this atmosphere caused? -but also awe, like he was just realizing exactly _where_ they were, and what it meant. His eyes came back to Dean, and there was a dim, dim, _dim_ but _there_ spark of something like hope in them. Something Dean had rarely seen over the last few years thanks to the suffocating threat of Lucifer hanging over his brother. But now, somehow, there it was. 

“ _Mom._ ” Sam echoed Dean. “And Jack- Dean, we did it, man- we, we actually _found_ them.”

Dean nodded emphatically- he knew how Sam felt; he himself still couldn’t quite believe that they were truly, actually _here_ , all together, in the same place as their mother, as Jack. 

It just wasn’t computing. 

Sam pushed off from the basin, now clean and mostly dry, leading the way back towards the center of the camp with an excited spring in his step- something that looked really out of place in this universe, this situation- but Dean guessed finally, _finally_ having Mary back could temporarily trump everything else.

It wasn’t hard to find her, all they had to do was say “Winchester” and they were immediately pointed towards the center of the camp; the further in they got the more specific the directions they received got. Eventually they were shown to a small complex of even more structures somewhat resembling buildings. And, at the closest one to them, was Mary.

Who was not alone.

“Hey mama. Miss me?”

Sam tensed up immediately, entire body rigid but somehow still making himself seem smaller than Dean thought possible. Dean was instantly on guard, eyes snapping up to take in the archangel standing smugly before their mother. Before anything could be done, though, they saw Mary’s fist fly out and connect harshly and solidly with Lucifer's face, snapping his neck back and making him stumble backwards a few steps- probably the only reason he didn’t land on his ass in the dirt was because a glowering Cas appeared behind him, roughly grabbing his arms and manhandling him away with a growled “Let’s go!”.

Sam didn’t loosen up, even after Lucifer’s distant “Is that a yes?” signalled his departure. He only relaxed marginally when Mary’s face came into view- she’d turned back to the guns she’d been cleaning, seemingly unbothered by the interaction. 

“Nice shot.” Dean told her, grinning and prompting her to raise her head towards them.

“Yeah. No kidding.” Sam agreed, voice slightly steadier than Dean would’ve expected. “Hey um, we should really go look for Jack and head back home before it’s too late” Sam continued, and Dean took the moment to survey the area around them _-Sam to his right and open space beyond, four people in the distance, Mary in front of him and nobody and nothing behind her, trees and another shack behind him; no immediate danger-_ and then turned back to Mary as she began to speak.

“I uh, boys I…” She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets- (Sam still needed a jacket, Dean could feel him shivering silently beside him) -looking down guiltily, and suddenly Dean was frowning, because this couldn’t lead to anything good. “About that.” She sighed. Glanced between them apologetically, and Dean knew he was right. “I’m not going back.”

What.

This had to be a joke. Because-

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ” Dean’d known he wasn’t going to like what she was going to say, and he’d even entertained the idea of her wanting to stay here, but that was when Sam had been- not here. He couldn’t… couldn’t _fathom_ why she’d want to stay here. Not go with them. With Sam, with Dean- they were her _sons_.

“I fought beside these people- I respect them, I respect their cause.”

But they were her _sons_.

She had gotten trapped over here while trying to protect them, and now they were _here-_

“You can’t expect me to just abandon them.”

But they-

They were her _sons_! What about not abandoning them? They hadn’t abandoned her, they’d fought for _months_ to get here, Sam had died, _Sam had died_ to get to her, and-

They had _grieved_ her!

Dean wasn’t computing.

This was a joke. It had to be.

No one was laughing.

“No, mom, that's not- you heard what Lucifer said- we have thirty one _hours_ -” Sam’s voice, scared, small, bordering on desperate, cut through Dean’s thoughts.

Because Sam had _died_ , and she was just-

“I- Sam.” Dean snapped his eyes back to Mary from where they had unfocused to as she reached out to grab the youngest Winchester’s arm. “Dean.” She met his eyes. Dean threw as much hopeless accusation into them as he could and didn’t feel an ounce of guilt, because she was- she-

She _couldn’t._

“I know what you went through to come find me.” Oh did she now. Dean couldn’t stop his scoff, and barely managed to stop a nervous eye roll.

She had _no idea_ what they went through to come find her. _To come find her._ And they _did_ , find her, they were _here_ , and she was- it was like she didn’t even-

No. Of course she cared.

But she- they-

They were her _sons!_

“These people are being _slaughtered_. They need me here.”

These people- _they-_ what?

No.

Dean finally, _finally_ got himself to speak, because-

“No! _We_ need you here, mom. _We_ do. We have been mopping up the world for years. _Years._ We have been knocked down, we have been possessed, we’ve lost friends, we’ve lost family- we’ve lost _each other!_ ” And oh, Dean was angry. Because _how dare she?_

_They were her sons!_

“And we never walk away, ever!” Dean continued. “And sometimes, we should’ve, because not every fight every _where_ can be won. It just can’t! Right? Tell her.” He glanced at Sam, waving a hand at Mary.

“I think Mom made up her mind.”

“See?”

Then Sam’s words actually processed. “Wait _what?_ ”

“Mom doesn’t want to leave these people.” Sam said matter of factly. Calmly. _Calmly._ Because Sam _never_ got angry anymore, and he _should_ , he _should_ get angry- at Dean, at the world, he should scream and yell and rage, but he _didn’t_. He hadn’t, not since the Cage. Maybe he couldn’t.

But Dean certainly could. Dean had enough anger for the both of them and then some. Before he could open his mouth to- to rage, set Sam straight, _something_ \- Sam spoke again, determined.

“So let's take them with us.”

What?

Take them-

Could they even-

_What?_

“They’ll never leave their home. They’ll never leave their cause-” that was Mary, and Dean, for the first time, was inclined to agree with her.

“I’m not saying abandon the fight,” Dean looked back to Sam, because this…

Could this work?

“I’m saying we get them somewhere safe, then we _all_ figure out a way to take down Michael. Then once we do, they can come back and save their world.”

That. That was-

_That could work._

Mary was smiling. “You’d do that for them?” 

Dean nearly scoffed. This was _Sam_. Would he do that for them? _Would he-_

Dean’s brother would take a bullet for a random _pedestrian_.

And he’d _especially_ take that bullet if it meant getting their mother back. Getting their mother to come _home_ with them.

Because Sam had wanted that- literally -all his life.

Dean spoke again. “Well we got what-” Sam, Dean, Mary, Gabriel, Jack, Cas, maybe Ketch… Lucifer? “-eight busting out? What’s a few more. How many are we talking?” 

Mary was silent for a few seconds, clearly doing her own head count, before she answered:

“Twenty five.”

Twenty five.

Twenty five…. So, if Dean was calculating correctly, thirty three. 

_Hah._ Thirty three? Could that many even _fit_ through the rift?

This plan was suddenly sounding a lot more impossible than it had been a few seconds ago.

Dean shook his head, saying quietly “Getting an extra twenty five people through that rift- that may not be possible.” He looked up at Sam, only to find it didn’t seem like his brother had really been listening. Sam was frowning at something behind Mary. 

“Cas- hey. Any update on Jack?”

Dean’s head swiveled and gaze landed on Cas, making his way towards them.

Cas, who was alone.

That meant something. That, that-

_Lucifer._

Shit.

“He’s back.” Cas was talking about Jack. Cas was supposed to be with Lucifer, and Jack with Gabriel.

_Where was Lucifer?!_

“Great! Where is he?” Sam was- Sam didn’t _know_ Cas was supposed to be with Lucifer.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

Cas’s face was the epitome of “fuck” and Dean knew the answer to Sam’s question a second before Cas answered it.

“Jack’s with Lucifer.”

~~~*~~~

“..what’s he like? God?”

Dean heard Jack’s young voice asking before he even saw the nephilim. Before Lucifer could answer, Dean rounded the corner and shouted, rage and desperation coloring his voice.

“Hey. Hey! I told you no talking!” He lowered his voice slightly as he came within feet of Jack, “And I told _you_ no listening.” 

The pair of celestial beings had been sitting on the steps leading into what looked like some sort of shelter- Dean could see cots and buckets and benches inside. Jack was now on his feet, face indignant.

“Dean- he’s in chains-”

_Hah._ He couldn’t believe _Sam_ had realized the chains didn’t work, while a nephilim, archangel, and seraph all didn’t.

Then again, Sam was probably right- Lucifer was probably _expecting_ them to be able to notice. Dean supposed it wasn’t too far-fetched an idea to assume that Lucifer probably hid the fact from his family, but didn’t bother to hide it from any humans.

Dean, however, wasn’t about to _tell_ the Devil his mistake, so he answered with “His _mouth _isn’t. Shoulda gagged him.” Dean muttered the afterthought.__

And they really should’ve. How much has Lucifer said to Jack? What did Jack hear? What-

Everything was _not_ falling apart. Everything was fine. They just needed….

They needed to get Jack away from Lucifer.

“I need to know about my powers. My family.”

His fami-

But.

_Not again._ First Mary, now _Jack?_

“Jack- _we_ are your family.” Dean jerked when Cas spoke from beside him. Dean threw some hunters' senses from out of the column of swirling, cold rage inside of him, and became aware that everyone else had followed him- Sam standing to his right just behind him, Castiel to Dean’s left, and Mary a few steps behind the seraph. Everyone was here, except- no, even Gabriel seemed to have melted out of the forest to join them, standing silently and seemingly relaxed far enough away that he wasn’t immediately noticeable, but close enough that he could be right beside them in just a few seconds if he wanted.

“We’ve been protecting you, we’ve been honoring your mother's wishes,” Castiel continued. “ _We’re your family._ ”

“Jack.” And that was Sam, terrified tremble placed firmly back into his voice. “You have no idea who Lucifer really is.”

“And I never _will_ unless I _talk to him_.” Jack said, with an air of explaining something extremely simple to a dimwitted child.

And that, that made Dean _so. Angry._

Because Sam was probably literally the opposite of a child, of stupid, especially when it came to _Lucifer_. Sam was probably at this point the one person in the world who knew Lucifer best. Sam was able to tell that Lucifer’s grace wasn’t contained, while Dean had felt absolutely nothing, for Christ's sake! And didn’t Jack _see_ that? Dean knew that, being a literal two year old, Jack was behind on social cues, but did he not _see_ what the barest mention of Lucifer did to Sam? Did he not notice how timid Sam was around Jack himself, and outright scared when Jack’s temper flared? How that wasn’t _normal_?

Or maybe he had, and had decided that that was just _Sam_. Dean realized with a horrible, heart wrenching jolt that neither Jack _nor_ Mary had ever seen Sam without the suffocating, dictating, terrifying threat of Lucifer hanging over him.

“Jack-” Dean began roughly.

“Dean!” Dean’s gaze snapped to Jack’s in surprise. “He’s my _father_.” Jack continued.

He was-

He was _Lucifer!_

Didn’t Jack ever stop to think that maybe, just _maybe_ , there’s a _reason_ that every single angel, human, and, well, everything hates him? The world doesn’t just up and _decide_ that they're gonna hate this one being, no.

Dean blew up.

“ _So what_?! Jack, that means _absolutely nothing_. He’s your father? He’s done absolutely nothing for you- nothing!” Dean was seething, and firmly ignoring the fact that Lucifer had actually literally _brought Sam back to life_ for Jack. Because now was not the time to increase his nausea with thoughts like those. “Jack-” Dean blew out a breath, switched tactics. “ _‘Father’_ doesn’t mean _anything_. Cas’s father- _your grandfather_ -hasn’t been seen by anybody for millions of years! Hell, _my_ father told me to kill my brother.” Surprise flitted over the nephilims face, and he heard Mary’s audible gasp, twigs cracking behind him as Sam shifted uncomfortably.

Haha, Whoops. He hadn’t realized how big of a bombshell that was. Well, he couldn’t exactly take it back, now.

Dean kept going, although now considerably calmer. “Jack, him being your father means nothing. How can it? You’ve literally just met him. And what has he told you so far? Nothing that we couldn’t have. He knows about as much about your powers as we do. Truth is, nobody knows what you’re capable of. That’s something you have to figure out on your own, like it or not.” And Dean was grabbing at straws here, hoping that his assumption that this was Lucifer's pitch, that this was why Jack wanted to hear him out, was correct.

Jack looked conflicted, now. Unsure. But _still_ , the kid plowed on, determined. “I just want to listen. Maybe, maybe he does know something that can help.” _Maybe you’re wrong,_ said his eyes.

“He _wants_ to listen.” Lucifer said quietly, smugly, from his position on the ground. It was the first he’d spoken since Dean had cut him off earlier, and Dean really wanted to kick his stupid face.

Instead of indulging in that fantasy, Dean sighed. Maybe, he thought, it wouldn’t hurt to let Jack hear him out. Maybe Jack would see right past the bullshit. Maybe Jack would finally understand that Lucifer is _evil, damn it,_ that Lucifer was, well, literally Satan.

Before the thoughts even crossed his mind Dean knew they were just wishful thinking. Didn’t Lucifer, like, _invent_ lying, or something?

At the end of the day, though, there really wasn’t anything they could do. If Jack wanted to listen, they literally could not stop him, simple as that. Apart from this worlds Michael, Jack and Lucifer were the two strongest beings _on this planet,_ and what were they? Three humans- granted, Winchesters, but they _were_ still human. Mostly. Apart from Sam’s demon blood and dormant psychic powers, and were archangel vessels even fully human?- an utterly spent, at his wits end Seraph of the Lord, and one wimpy archangel with an “out of order” sign hanging on his front. There was literally nothing they could do, other than trying to convince Jack to make a different decision. And, well, that hasn’t worked so far.

At this point, Dean conceded, the best thing they could do was at least make sure they were present for this exchange, and arguing with Jack right now wasn’t the way to insure that that happened.

So Dean relented, because what else could he do?

“Ok.” He looked at Jack. “You can hear him out, but we are staying right here. We leave in an hour, so that’s how much time you’ve got.” He directed the last part to the Devil sitting on the doorstep, then threw all the stubbornness he could into the stare he leveled at Jack. And, to Dean’s immense relief, Jack agreed.

“Ok.” The kid nodded, turning back to Lucifer, who was squinting up at them all in… anger? Annoyance, more like.

Whatever it was, Dean decided he didn’t like it.

However, to Dean’s great surprise, his words seemed to have had an effect on Jack, because when he turned back to Lucifer it was with no small amount of suspicion, gaze guarded, voice hard, and with the question:

“Tell me why they hate you.”

Lucifer's eyes widened and Dean caught the flicker of shock that passed over his face in less than a millisecond. His eyes glanced around the clearing before he seemed to decide that being the only one sitting down might not be really wise, and got to his feet, laughing nervously.

“Well, like I’ve already said, y’know, mostly just the propaganda and all- but we’ve already established that I couldn’t’ve done any of that from a cage, Jack, right buddy?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “Why do _they_ hate you?”

And _oh._

Jack seemed to have realized, _finally,_ Dean thought, that there are separate reasons for the world’s aversion to Satan, and the Winchesters’.

And, well, he was right. The reasons were so horrid that they’d decided- well, Sam had decided and Dean and Cas had agreed- that they spare the kid the knowledge of just how hands down _horrible_ his father was.

“Yeah, yeah, ok, valid question. Uh, not exactly important to our current situation though, bud. We can go over all that together when we get back, yeah? We don’t exactly have time to really delve into it enough for you to, ah, get everything.” 

Lucifer seemed to realize he wasn’t winning jack over with emotional appeal. Dean could almost _see_ when his strategy switched, gears shifting.

“Alright, Jack, look at this logically here, bud. I’m the closest to you here, in power. Yeah, maybe Dean’s right and _nobody_ understands your powers, but I’m still your best bet. And- Jack, with me here, we, together, have enough power to _defeat Michael._ ”

That seemed to peak Jack’s interest, but Dean also noticed that it didn’t seem like the fact that Lucifer hadn’t answered- had actually _stumbled_ over trying not to answer -Jack’s question had escaped the nephilims notice. Jack straightened up, narrowing his eyes. 

“You… what do you mean, defeat Michael- we can kill him?”

“Yeah, Jack.” Lucifer was smiling. “With me, and I’ll help. Just come with me.”

Dean opened his mouth, aiming to put a stop to this, but caught Mary’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. _Give him a chance,_ it seemed to say.

Could they risk that, though?

“I… I’m not leaving my friends.” 

“No?” Lucifer grinned. His eyes flashed red. Dean heard the sudden crunch of leaves as someone took a lurching step backwards behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know it’d been Sam. 

“I mean _come on,_ ” Lucifer sounded exasperated now, arms spread out, leaning forwards “you _really_ think _they_ are going to be enough to combat Michael? These _humans_?” With every word, Lucifer seemed to be gaining more and more confidence.

Jack opened his mouth, gearing up to protest, but Lucifer cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Oh it’s alright, don’t start, I know you’ve hopped on Cassie and Gabe’s ‘humans aren’t _that_ bad’ train, which-” he turned to Gabriel, who was leaning against a tree a ways away, carefully watching the scene unfold “ _-seriously?_ I thought you of all angels would side with me, but then again you were always a bit quirky.” The last part he muttered under his breath, turning back to Jack and by extension the three Winchesters and Cas, but if Gabriels irritated eye roll was anything to go by, he’d heard him. 

Eyes trained back on his son, Lucifer continued. “So, alright, maybe humans aren’t the worst.” The distasteful face he made told Dean he didn’t agree with that statement very much. “But Jack, son, they’re _humans-_ I’m not saying they’re weak, but… compared to us, man? They’re weak. It’s just a fact of life.” 

His voice had turned sickeningly sweet, consoling. Dean wanted to rip his vocal cords out.

Lucifer's words seemed to only solidify Jack's stance. “I don’t _care,_ ” he finally spoke. “I’ve fought with them, and I’ve seen them die and _sacrifice_ themselves for others, for _me,_ and I don’t think that’s not something you’ll ever do. I’m staying with them. We’re going to win. We’re going to make Michael pay, and we can do it without you.” And, wow. Jack seemed to have done a complete one eighty, now completely refusing Lucifer. He’d also subconsciously stepped back, closer to Cas and Mary, facing Lucifer from their side.

Lucifer, however, jumped on the opportunity that Jack’s previous words had just presented. “You want Michael to pay? _I can make him pay,_ Jack. He killed your friends, tortured you?” Here he glanced at Sam, winking. Dean froze, to say nothing of Sam, who’d been probably _literally_ standing stiller than a statue for a while now. “Well lucky you, I’m intimately familiar with inflicting pain, and much better at it than big bro Mikey.” He grinned, a feral, absolutely delighted thing, and Dean instinctively knew he’d loathe the next words out of the Devil’s mouth. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

Dean saw red. Not even a second after the words had left Lucifer's mouth, Dean was on him, hands grabbing his jacket, pushing him back, not giving a fuck that this was a powerful archangel that wasn’t contained in the slightest, and then there were hands grabbing _his_ jacket, pulling _him_ back, and-

“Dean, _Dean-_ come on, calm down, chill damn it-” 

Sam’s words filtered through to him, through that no longer red, but dark, black _anger_ that had a hold on Dean's mind, and with them his surroundings. Sam, a little ways behind him, Gabriel, no longer a passive observer, but physically pushing Dean and Lucifer apart. Castiel, angel blade out and furious glare that was usually followed by a brutal smiting levered at Lucifer, behind Cas a thoroughly confused Mary and Jack. And Lucifer in front of him, Lucifer who was _laughing,_ and no matter how hard Sam was trying to hide them Dean could still feel the violent tremors of terror in the arm gripping his shoulder and it shouldn’t have to be like this, _fuck,_ it _shouldn’t,_ Sam shouldn’t have to feel the need to _protect Lucifer from him,_ he should be right there alongside Dean sending his ass to the empty to rot in the darkness of the empty forever-

“-ome on I know this isn’t ideal, but we still _need_ him, Dean please, please just let it go. Please. Dean-”

Sam was still pulling him back and Gabriel pushing, and Dean realized he had dug his heels in. He released and staggered away, the action followed by Sam’s relieved sigh, and then Sam’s previous words actually computed.

Let it _go?_ Sam wanted him to let this go? Let it-

No.

Absolutely not.

Because Dean had reasons to hate the devil, alright, reasons beyond the ordinary civilian obvious ones. The Devil wasn’t just some abstract concept to them like he was to most people, oh no, the Devil was in fact standing right in front of Dean doubling over from laughter, laughter at Deans anger, at his brothers _fear-_

Oh, Dean had so, so many reasons to want to completely and utterly butcher Lucifer, reasons like the fact that Sam knew Enochian better than English, better than his first goddamn language, (the one that Dean taught him, oh, god, Dean’s younger brother knew the language he was taught through torture by Satan better than the one taught by his older brother) reasons that presented themselves in the angelic lilt Sam’s words would sometimes take on when he was scared or frustrated or otherwise emotional, -that hadn’t been there Before, had never even been something Sam would’ve been able to _do,_ no matter how good the kid was with languages- that lilt that meant Sam was slipping away from him, that lilt that would linger for hours after Sam woke up screaming in a language Dean couldn’t understand, that lilt that Dean would stubbornly pretend wasn’t there (for whose benefit, he didn’t know, he wasn’t sure Sam even realized he did it at all). Reasons like Sam’s curt refusal to be healed by Cas if the injury is anything but fatal, and the sudden tension that would appear in the rigid line of his shoulders, the uneasy lock of muscles whenever his refusal was dismissed, his nervous shift away from the angelic light, his barely suppressed shudder when the singing of grace filled the air. How he would move away before the healing was even done, motions a hair away from frantic, because really Dean, he was _fine,_ and no, Cas should conserve his grace, and Dean, seriously, there were others worse off that Cas should attend to, and Dean would be left to stare at Sam’s retreating back, feeling utterly helpless. 

And Dean had stopped snapping his fingers because of that full body _flinch_ it caused in Sam, sometimes even resulting in whatever he’d been holding ending up on the floor and his brother trembling, _cowering;_ Dean had stopped snapping his fingers because of that gut wrenching aura of _shame_ that seemed to settle over his younger brother afterward like some sick blanket, like trauma from being tortured by the fucking devil is something to be _ashamed about-_

With nothing else to do, Dean rounded on Sam. “You want me to _let this go?_ ” He echoed Sam’s words. “Sam, two hundred years, the asshole tortu-” He violently cut himself off at the frantic, desperate, pleading look to _shut up_ on Sam’s face.

(They hadn’t told Jack about Sam’s time in the Cage. Sam refused to talk about it, and it wasn’t Deans information to spill. Mary didn’t know about it either, unless Sam had told her on his own, which- come on, the kid still flinched at the smallest _mention_ of Lucifer, there was no way that had happened. Mary knew which archangels Dean and Sam were vessels for. Jack didn’t. They’d given Jack and Mary a quick rundown of events- but only the need to know. As a result, they didn’t know about the demon blood. They didn’t know about either of their tours in Hell. They didn’t know as much as they probably should about the Mark of Cain. They didn’t know just how many times both Dean and Sam had died. They didn’t know about the Trials, or at least not the part about Sam’s desperate lunge for death at the end of them. Dean and Sam had given them the barest of bare bones, because they didn’t think they’d ever really _need_ to know the horrid, ugly details.)

(Of course, in true Winchester style, they’d been wrong. And it’d now come back to bite them in the ass.)

Mary’s soft, confused “what?” reminded Dean that she was, in fact, still there with them.

Fuck.

He twisted around to look back at Lucifer, who’d fallen silent, although now Dean wished the bastard was still busy laughing. Lucifer, having seemingly given up on winning Jack over for the time being- _powerful archangel_ , Dean reminded himself, _he’s used to doing what he wants_ -was looking quizzically between Mary and Sam, a look of dawning realization on his face, morphing before Dean’s eyes into astonished glee. Sam beside him held his breath, and the dread hanging in the air felt as solid as the little pebbles that had made their way into Dean’s shoes, poking at his feet.

At Mary’s “Dean, what am I missing here? Sam?” Lucifer seemed to come back to himself, and then promptly burst out in another harsh laugh of disbelief.

“Wait, you’re saying you _don’t know_?” He wheezed out. Straightening back up, he scoffed. “Wow, and you call yourself their mother. You know, I was considering asking you for some parenting tips, bu-”

Dean didn’t think he’d ever hit anyone this hard before. The skin over his knuckles felt like he’d just punched a brick wall with all his might, but the force of his swing combined with the element of surprise actually managed to shut Lucifer up, snapping his head to the side. Because damn it, this was the _worst_ possible way for Mary and Jack to find out. About any of it, but _especially_ this.

(And Dean realized that, yes, both Jack and Mary needed to know. Not only because by them not knowing they sometimes inadvertently triggered Sam, doing or saying things that Dean and Cas already knew not to, although that was also a problem that had been nagging for Deans attention for a while now, but… damn it, they were a family. Dean still sometimes had trouble extending that word onto more people than just Sam and Cas. They’d have to tell them, Dean realized, and they _would_ , but not now, not like this, _never_ like this.)

Gabriel, having backed up a few paces after Dean had previously relented, stepped back in, hand coming up to solidly grip the back of Lucifer's jacket. Sam had stepped forward a bit too, hand held out towards Dean, but moved back when it became apparent Dean wouldn’t continue. 

(And Dean _was_ done. He wouldn’t continue. He wanted to, _god_ probably literally knew he wanted to, but he wouldn’t. Because he knew Sam was scared, ok. He knew the real reason Sam was so against Dean murdering the Devil was not because he thought they _needed_ him or some bullshit (and fuck, they did, they _did_ , Lucifer was the most powerful out of all of them save Jack, but Dean honestly _could not_ care less about that right now, not when his brothers _(pale face, frantic eyes, mouth open in an agonized scream)_ blood smeared face with those terrified, terrified eyes flickering down in shame was still flashing in front of him every time Dean so much as blinked) it was because Sam was afraid _for Dean_. Dean could only imagine the horrors Lucifer had whispered to him in the dark for _centuries_ in between bouts of torture (and he had to believe there’d been breaks, it couldn’t have just been two hundred years of neverending, nonstop, _agony_ )- hell, the horrors he’d _shown_ Sam down there. And, honestly, forget _down there-_ Sam had just spent an unknown amount of time _alone_ with Lucifer, (a _day_ , the walk from the cave to the camp was a _day_ ) hiking through the woods, defenseless because Lucifer is an archangel strong enough to bring someone back to life just like _that_ , and oh fuck, _Sammy-_ )

(Hell, Dean was _glad_ he couldn’t imagine the kinds of threats and promises Lucifer had made. Because if he knew, he probably wouldn’t have this much restraint.)

So no, _fuck_ no, Dean wasn’t going to chill. Dean wasn’t going to let it go.

Oh, no, Dean was going to fucking _end_ Lucifer.

_But alright_. He conceded, with no small amount of fury. _Later_.

Right now his priority was getting himself and Sam away from Lucifer in one piece, he decided. Cas and Gabe could take care of themselves, Mary had Jack, who after seeing what his little listening session had turned into would hopefully drop this for the time being. And Sam has, and always will have, Dean. 

So with that thought in mind, Dean pushed forward one last time, throwing Sam’s hand off his shoulder and cutting his brothers litany of pleas off (and there was that goddamn barely there angelic lilt again, the one that made Dean want to go deaf just so he couldn’t hear it-) to be replaced with a small noise of protest, but he knew Sam wouldn’t try to stop him right now, because Sam couldn’t force himself anymore nearer to Lucifer than he already was, and oh look, there’s another reason.

Gabriel was still gripping Lucifer, face stoic and unheeding of the annoyed looks his older brother was sending his way. Dean stopped right in front of Lucifer, their faces barely six inches apart. When he spoke, his voice was low- not that that would stop Jack from hearing him, what with his freaky nephilim grace powers, but it didn’t hurt to try- and burning with barely contained rage.

“I want to make a few things _very_ clear. You hurt any of us, and Jack will _never_ want anything to do with you. He will end you with barely a second thought. No amount of filling his head with lies right now will change that. After hearing what you’ve had to say so far, I don’t think Jack will be very open to anything else you decide to tell him. Yes, he’s seen you bringing Sam back as the gift you wanted him to see it as. But once he finds out about the things you’ve done- to us, to the world, to _Sam-_ he _will not side with you_. I don’t care that you think there's some seed of your evil in him that’ll agree with you- you can think what you want. Right now you are going to go _that_ way-” dean jerked his chin forward “-and Jack is going to go _that_ way-” Dean jabbed his thumb backwards “-and you will not interact with him until we’re _out_ of this world and back in ours. Sure, maybe we need you as insurance against Michael, but that’s all you are to us, and all you will be to Jack.”

Dean shifted his gaze over Lucifer's shoulder to where Gabriel was watching him, and Dean caught a flicker of something in the youngest archangel's eyes, something he couldn’t exactly identify- approval? Judgement? _Grief?_ \- but it was gone just as soon as Dean had noticed it. He spoke. 

“You got him?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel drawled. He tightened his hold on Lucifer and stepped back, roughly pulling his brother away. “I got him.”

Lucifer, to Dean’s growing unease, had remained silent throughout Dean’s speech, and was silent now, lips pressed together tightly. As he was turned away by Gabriel, though, who was now saying something snide sounding in Enochian (that Lucifer seemed to be pointedly ignoring), Dean didn’t miss the glint in the Devil's eyes, the one that spoke of indignation and mild annoyance, the one that told Dean his words hadn’t much affected him, and nothing Dean could do would prevent him from getting what he wanted, in the end. Whatever. Dean didn’t care. As long as Lucifer was headed one direction, and Dean’s family- safe and whole- in another.

“Jack,” Dean turned around. Judging by the kids’ previous words, he seemed to have accepted that Lucifer is spouting absolute bullshit, but Dean didn’t want to take any chances and upset him in an already terrifyingly delicate situation. “You can still talk to him if you want, okay, you can hear him out, and you will, I promise. But, please, man, just wait a bit, alright? Not right now. Mom?” He sent a look at Mary, pleading for some help. He could only imagine how close they’d grown, fighting a _war_ in a -literally- god damned _alternate universe_. If anyone could lead Jack away with soothing words and comforting touches, it was her. 

The look she sent back was conflicted- Dean could see her all but physically brimming with questions- but she, thank fuck, seemed to decide that she would also have time to talk to her children later. It was a long walk up to wherever they were headed. Taking the nephilim by his arm, she gently pulled, and Jack turned away. Dean hid a wince at the kicked puppy look on the kids’ face- but they would fix that; they’d talk to him. It would be fine.

Cas- having not spoken a word since Dean had allowed Jack to listen to Lucifer- now approached them, angel blade disappearing back up his sleeve to wherever it went when it wasn’t in his hand, hard lines of fierce defense melting away into concern on his face.

“Are you alright?”

The question was directed at Sam, and he nodded. Then, seemingly without even thinking about it shook his head, lips pressed tightly together, indicating he _would not_ talk about it.

Dean was suddenly filled with the inexplicable need for a shower.

Sam also couldn’t have gotten _all_ the blood off. And Mary probably hadn’t had good water pressure for months, either. They needed to get back, all of them.

Thirty hours.

Cas drew his eyes to Dean, apparently also realizing that attempting to talk about feelings with Sam right now was futile. “We leave in thirty three minutes.” He told them. “I’m going to make sure Lucifer is secure. You should check on Jack before we leave. You two have a plan, I’m assuming?”

Heh, well, to call what they wanted to do a ‘plan’ would be extremely generous. But they did, at least, have something, so “Yeah- more or less.” Dean told the seraph.

“Good,” Cas nodded. “Then you will tell us on the way.

With another brief glance between the two brothers, he turns and walks unnervingly silently back the way the two archangels had gone.

Sam shivers miserably beside him. “Cas is right, we should go check on Jack.” He says, voice barely stronger than a whisper, and _that_ at least spurs Dean back into action.

“Yeah, Sammy.” He says, then grabs his brother's arm- ignoring the slight flinch the action causes -and resolutely leads Sam in the opposite direction from where Mary and Jack had gone, towards a bench he’d seen earlier stacked with spare clothing.

~~~*~~~

The walk from Dayton to the larger camp (Dean still hadn’t bothered to figure out what it was called- he’d heard “base camp” a few times, though) wasn’t actually that long- a little under ten hours. Granted, they did walk fast- and had to flat out run to escape heavenly wrath a few times before Lucifer had apparently had enough of that and revealed that the handcuffs they’d put him in didn’t hold him in this world.

At all.

Sam had been right.

Not that Dean had doubted him, but, yeah, there had been a little niggle of hope that his brother was- paranoid? Wrong? Dean didn’t know.

Now, however, Lucifer had thrown away his element of surprise for seemingly nothing, and hadn’t done anything else with it- hadn’t killed or threatened or indulged in anything otherwise Satan-y. The only thing it’d gotten him was a long, drawn out, unsure and suspicious look from Jack at Lucifer’s obvious attempt to get back on the kids’ good side with his act of supposed heroism.

“See? Team player.” He’d said, nodding at Jack as dust from the angels he’d exploded was carried away by a breeze.

That hadn’t eased anyones mind.

Sam and Mary had briefed Castiel and Gabriel on their plan- and Jack had been walking within earshot, so they assumed he heard as well -while Dean watched Lucifer, and the two angels had assured them that it _should_ be possible to fit that many people through a rift, theoretically, if it were strong enough.

They just had to hope it was.

For the most part Jack had walked silently and alone, giving one word monosyllabic answers when asked how he was doing and shooting indecipherable looks at both Lucifer and Sam. Before they’d left, he’d been bursting with angry questions- both him and Mary -but Dean had firmly told them that all their questions would be answered _later_ , when they got back to the Bunker. When they were safe.

Base Camp, it turned out, was Bobby’s salvage yard. Not in Sioux Falls- and Dean had absolutely no idea how _that_ worked, because it looked almost exactly the same. Down to the spots of peeling paint on the house, down to the precariously balancing tower of toyotas in the farthest corner of the yard, down to the type of gravel scattered about.

And Dean absolutely _hated it_.

Because while his brain saw one thing, his body felt another, and the wrongness of the atmosphere clashing with the familiar scene was too much. That, along with how _busy_ the place was- too packed with people, with buildings and shelters and tents that aren’t supposed to be there, too different and not different enough.

And _Bobby_.

Yes, Dean knew he wasn’t _their_ Bobby, just like this Charlie wasn’t their Charlie.

But damn was it hard to remember that.

He could see the exact same thing reflected in Sam’s eyes, and it did at least help to know he wasn’t alone this particular torture.

Dean sipped the coffee- hot, bitter, black -that he had acquired somewhere, at some point, and turned at the crunch of gravel behind him. 

“Well, I’ve talked to a few of our chiefs,” Bobby came up to them, stopping a few feet away. Sam, who must’ve been _really_ lost in thought if he hadn’t registered the movement around him, snapped up to attention at Bobby’s voice. “The one’s who’re here anyways. They’ve agreed to hear you two out.”

“That’s great! Are they ready now, or-” Sam asked, looking anxiously up at the quickly darkening sky. Dean followed his gaze upwards. Night was falling fast. They needed to move this along; they were on a schedule.

Twenty hours, now.

Less than a day.

Dean hadn’t slept in two. 

“Yeah, they’re waitin’.” Bobby’s voice snapped both their gazes down from the sky and back to him. “C’mon.” Bobby turned away, and they followed, footsteps crunching over too familiar gravel, weaving between deja vu inducing piles of cars, to a garage like building that shouldn’t be there.

Dean shook the thoughts off. This wasn’t their world. This wasn’t their Bobby.

Although he was just as skeptical and stubborn- if not more -as their Bobby had been. He’d unapologetically called their plan “the dumbest friggin’ idea in a landfill of dumb ideas”, but had nevertheless agreed to gather up a few of their leaders and have Dean and Sam pitch the idea to them.

He’d also told them that Charlie and Ketch would not be among the people Sam and Dean would be talking to, because they were currently on mission a few hours away from here; they’d gotten a tip on an angel Kill Squad that was executing resistance and went to head them off.

But that was alright, it was _fine_ , because Bobby’d also assured them they’d be back in an hour or two.

Bobby led them to a… Dean thought it looked kinda like a mix between a large tent and a small garage, the walls were mostly wood and scraps of metal, but the ceiling and entrance was tarp. Inside _-table at the back, good for cover, the wall to Dean’s left completely covered in shelves, extremely accessible weaponry, empty wall to Dean’s right, five foldable chairs in the center, three people occupying them, Mary leaning against the table facing them; no immediate danger-_ they found Mary already speaking to a group of extremely skeptical looking people, apparently explaining how rifts work.

Castiel and Gabriel had both been assigned to Lucifer Watch Duty, although there wasn’t much they’d be able to do, aside raise the alarm, if Lucifer were to decide to quit playing nice. (Well, Gabriel could just kill him with their archangel blade, but Dean wasn’t betting on that happening.) Dean wasn’t particularly worried about that, however. They had Jack, who was currently with a group of his friends- they’d passed him on their way here, speaking quietly and seemingly at ease with six others -and what was more, it didn’t seem like Lucifer’d given up trying to win Jack over- and going nuclear on the resistance, on Dean and Mary and Sam, on Jack’s friends and family, would definitely not help him accomplish that goal.

Mary looked up as they entered, a smile breaking over her face, and beckoned them over to her. Bobby hung back, to the left of the entrance, watching silently. 

Taking the space to Mary’s left, turning towards the front of the tent, Mary continued with her explanation. Dean stayed silent as Sam jumped in to aid their mother, taking the time as his two family members spoke to observe the three individuals they were speaking to. They were all of them grim, lips turned down and eyes weighed by years upon years of supernatural warfare and death. The air around them was thick with despondency and distrust, and their faces deeply lined, although none of them could’ve been older than forty. All in all, they closely resembled basically every other person Dean had seen in this world so far.

His thoughts wandered further, subconsciously trying to gather all the little bits and pieces of information he had, of thoughts he had, to solve the many many problems scattered around like forgotten toys in his brain. Toys that, every time he passed, he had to remember to pick up, or else, or else, or else. Lucifer, probably the biggest problem, and Jack, situation precarious and fragile, and the rift, which they _needed_ to still be there, be strong enough, and Rowena, who Lucifer had said was alive, but it was _Lucifer_ , and Sam, falling apart before Dean’s eyes, and this world’s Michael, the most unknown factor in this whole damn equation, and the constant threat of this world’s angels, the absolute _last_ thing they needed. Dean felt like his mind was fraying, fast- trying to stretch too thin, too far, like someone was desperately trying to wrap something too big in a too small piece of saran wrap, too stubborn to rip off a bigger chunk, turning it this way and that way, patting and pressing it down here and pulling it further and further there. Corners unsticking and flapping up, wrinkles forming, holes tearing- all too quick to attend to, only adding to the confusion, the desperation, the frustration.

All in all, an absolute mess. Dean grit his teeth.

“So let me get this straight,” the finality with which the words were spoken snapped Dean out of his quickly spiraling thoughts. “You want us to follow you through, a magic door, that’s gonna blast us the hell out of here and into some kind of fairy tale world where everything's pretty?” The man who’d spoken, black, seated in the middle- Dean thought he’d maybe heard Mary call him “Andy” -was giving off _tsunamis_ of doubt, bushy eyebrows raised higher than Dean had thought possible by the time he finished speaking, voice steadily rising as though he didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged. The woman sitting to his left, farthest away from Dean, pale face starkly contrasting with the dirt and grime on her forehead and cheeks, narrowed her eyes and tilted her head at them as if challenging them to deny the words. The third chief right across from Dean, bald, pink faced, reminded Dean of a few Hunters back in their world, simply lowered his eyes, solemnly nodding as if he’d expected this to be too good to be true and his friend’s- Andy’s? -words were all the affirmation he needed.

“Well, okay that- that’s not exactly what I- what I was trying to say, but-” Sam went silent at Mary’s hand on his arm, glancing up at her.

“Andy,” She began, and Dean noted with a small speck of pleasure that he’d been right about the name. “Look, I get that you don’t know my sons, but you do know me. That world _does_ exist. Hear them out.” 

Andy sat up a little at that, nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement of her words, but then looked to his sides at the other two with him, frown sliding back into place. “No one here is runnin’ out on our buddies, runnin’ out on the fight.” He spoke, determined.

Dean bit back a sigh, and spoke for the first time since entering the tent, effectively and immediately drawing everybody’s attention. “Nobody’s saying ‘run out’,” he began, then, deciding that he was, in fact, frustrated, continued, words matching Andy’s in harshness. “Guys, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re _losing_ , okay? You’re outmanned, you’re outgunned-”

“My brother and I,” Sam slid in with practiced ease and smoothly lifted some of the attention from Dean onto himself. “Back home, we’re sitting on the biggest collection of lore, and weapons, _in our world._ ” Dean noticed Andy’s head tilting up, attention successfully peaked. The other two resistance leaders also leaned a bit forward, all their attention now fully back on Sam. “Now- something in there, it might be enough to even the odds-”

“So we find that,” Dean slipped back in, comfortably picking up his brother's words. “Then you come back here with a _plan_ , a plan to beat Michael, and his armies.” Dean’s eyes flicked up, attention wavering, as movement in Bobby’s corner of the tent drew his gaze. It was dark back there now, but he could pick out somebody- armed, probably a guard -leaning in to Bobby, saying something in his ear.

“And then you _win_.” Sam finished for him.

“Exactly.” Dean nodded, eyes coming back to rest on the faces in front of him.

Said faces in front of him were still staring at them, eyes narrowed, but the air was no longer so heavy with skepticism, the cynical judgement somewhat lessened in their eyes. 

“You may think you don’t know us,” Sam continued, “but you do. We’ve _been_ where you are. Hell, we _are_ you.” Andy drew back at that, frowning, eyes flicking to Mary. Then he seemed to study them, actually _look_ at them for the first time, crossed his arms, and didn’t deny Sam’s words.

“We’ll talk to our people, take a vote.” He told them, and Dean thought he might’ve heard the tiniest fleck of hope coloring his voice.

“That’s all we ask.” Dean returned, leaning back as they began standing up, walking out of the tent. 

They were stopped from following them out by Bobby, coming up to them solemnly, leaning his wait on the now empty chairs. Dean frowned, felt Sam shift anxiously beside him. “Bobby?” Mary asked.

“It’s Charlie and Ketch.” They all tensed, bracing for the bad news his tone heralded.

Bobby, eyes flicking to each of their faces in turn, sighed. Spoke. “Goin’ after the execution squad went sideways. They’re the ones who got ambushed.”

Well if that wasn’t short and to-the-point. Dean had completely forgotten that about Bobby, how concise he could make things, and now because of the familiarity of it he felt as if he’d been smacked in the face with grief.

And- _shit._

Charlie and Ketch were-

Shit.

“Were they taken at the Pass?” Mary spoke. Dean had no idea what she meant by that, but Bobby seemed to, nodding. “If it was an ambush,” Mary reasoned, “the angels needed them alive. They would’ve taken them to a camp- probably the one by Lake Erie. It’s three hours away by mobile transport.” The last part she directed at Sam and Dean.

So they were still alive. That meant-

Nineteen hours. They had _nineteen hours_. They didn’t have _time_ for a rescue mission!

He could see the exact same dilemma reflected in Sam’s eyes, focused onto his brother. But he also saw that, yeah- it was Charlie and Ketch.

They had to _try._

Dean relented, and Sam turned back to Bobby. “Where did they hear about this execution?” He asked, voice low, angry, dangerous.

The feeling was mutual.

~~~*~~~

The guy Dean roughly slammed into a chair was scared, scrawny, dark haired and tan, in desperate need of a shower, and a _really_ bad liar. Dean wasn’t surprised that he had gone groveling to the angels; to the winning side. It was laughably easy to get all the necessary information out of him, along with the confirmation that yes, he’d sold Charlie and Ketch out to the angels, and they were currently being interrogated at the place Mary had spoken about. Three hours East to Lake Erie; Dean hadn’t even realized they’d gone from Ohio to Michigan, and for some reason the realization jarred him.

This world was so, so drastically different from theirs.

The members of the resistance needed to vote, and this was probably one of the most important decisions they could ever make- they all needed to be there. Naturally that left only Gabriel, Lucifer, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Jack and Mary as people/celestial beings who needn’t vote, ergo the only ones that could leave the camp. The rescue would be up to them.

Of course, Lucifer coming was out of the question, and Gabriel, to Dean’s surprise, actually volunteered to stay and watch him. That left Castiel, Jack, Mary, Sam, and Dean to rescue Charlie and Ketch.

They had nineteen hours.

Night had fallen completely now, the sky black- not a single star, not even the _moon_ was visible -they were provided with a small, fast and quiet military looking vehicle, took off into the trees.

And then Jack was blasting doors and angels this way and that, and Dean was holding up Ketch’s weak, bleeding, trembling body, and Sam was hugging Charlie, pure momentary bliss on his face, and Mary was pulling her angel blade out of a dead body, and they heard the scream of a dying angel and the thud of a vessel dropping to the floor before coming out of the building and seeing Castiel standing over a body that looked exactly like his own.

And then Cas was brushing past them, leading the way back to the car, Charlie was leaning on Sam, Mary was calling for Jack, Dean was hauling Ketch up into the back seats, the motor was starting, Cas’s hands gripping the wheel, and they were leaving a stronghold full of dead angels, doors barely hanging on their hinges, and empty shackles behind.

It was only when they were halfway back to camp, all still breathing heavily, Ketch passed out behind Dean and Charlie speaking softly about something in the back with Mary, the cool wind that was whipping all their faces carrying their voices away, Charlie’s hand loosely gripping Ketch’s sleeve, Jack sitting between Sam and Dean, all three of them so far silent, and Cas driving in the front, that the nephilim finally spoke.

“This war.” Jack started without preamble. It was the first time he’d spoken to them without being prompted since they’d left the camp in Ohio behind. “It’s taught me a lot of things, I think.” He was looking down at his lap, frowning at his hands. Dean met Sam’s eyes, then they both looked back to the kid. “The people here, both the ones in the resistance and not, they’re… not like people back in our world. But neither are you.” He looked up at Dean, gaze flicking away to Sam too fast for Dean to see anything that could help him decipher the kids’ thought process; where he was going with this. “The people here are a lot like you.”

“And, these people that I met, that I fought with, some of them had things they couldn’t talk about. And at first I didn’t get it,” He frowned, voice taking on a note of frustration. “But Mary explained to me that some things, some things hurt too much to talk about. Some things were just too _bad_ to be said.” He fell silent for a moment, then continued. “And then we kept fighting, and bad things kept happening, and then there were _really_ bad things…” He trailed off. “And now I _do_ get it, and I wish I didn’t.” 

They were silent. Dean wasn’t sure what to say. What he _could_ say, to that. Jack was barely two years old, and the horrors he must’ve witnessed here….

“I’m sorry, Jack.” Sam said softly, and Jack nodded, then shook his head.

“No, that’s not- that’s not my point.” He blew out a breath, then continued. “I mean, I know how really bad things, _really_ bad things, can hurt to talk about. Hurt too much. And you guys, you talk about _a lot_ , things that, with other people, they wouldn’t be able to. So if, if there’s something that was so bad even you can’t talk about it….” He let the implications go unspoken. “My point is, I don’t know what my fath- what Lucifer did, but whatever it was, it must’ve been really, really bad. Because, because I trust you. I do. You- _raised_ me, Cas and Sam and, and you too, Dean, and then Mary. And I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He looked up at Dean. “That him being my father doesn’t really, doesn’t _mean_ anything.” He frowned. “And I also… you’re good people, and I know you won’t… just randomly hate someone. Without a reason. And if that reason is so bad you won’t even- or can’t -tell me it, then, you know, I think I should probably trust you. About him.” His hands fidgeted, then stilled. “And I- if it’s that bad, then I’m not going to, _demand_ you tell me or, or anything. I hope you will, but if you can’t….” 

He glanced between them, Dean and Sam, and Dean finally _did_ catch what was in his eyes- something Dean didn’t think he could describe, something like love, and trust, and faith but so, so much more. “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Jack paused, as if considering his words, and when he next spoke Dean felt the weight, the meaning, the _truth_ behind each one of them. “I don’t care if he’s my father. If Lucifer hurt you- any of you -so bad that you can’t, or won’t even talk about it… I don’t think I want anything to do with him.”

Jack nodded to himself a bit, then fell back in the seat, now apparently done talking.

And Dean was left feeling completely thrown off balance. All the simmering anger he’d had at Jack for wanting to get to know Lucifer, for not seeing his evil, for not trusting his family, had drained away and he was now left completely empty, with no idea how to go forward from here.

Because Jack had just-

That was-

_Wow._

Dean was _literally_ struck speechless, sitting there mute, staring dumbly at the kid.

Sam didn’t seem to know what to say either, eyes wide, letting out a few choked off sounds before giving up closing his mouth.

It was Cas that broke the silence that had settled onto them, speaking without turning around from the driver's seat in front of them. 

“We don’t know what kinds of things you’ve witnessed here, Jack.” Cas spoke for both the Winchesters and himself. “But we’re immensely proud that you’ve grown, in spite of them, into a better person. Thank you, Jack.”

The cold wind still whipped their faces, Mary and Charlie still spoke in the back, and the lights from the camp they were approaching could just barely be seen in the distance, winking in and out between trees as they drove.

And what Cas had said, Dean supposed, summed everything up pretty well.

~~~*~~~

They got back to camp with twelve hours left.

Upon entering they’d been greeted by Bobby, coming up to them with the resistance leaders and a few members behind him, the latter immediately embracing Charlie, and leading Ketch away to what Dean assumed was the infirmary section of the camp. The rest of the people left standing behind Bobby- Dean recognized them from the tent they’d originally pitched their idea in earlier today-no, _yesterday_ , it was early morning now, early enough for the sky to still be as black as night, though -were studying the Winchester brothers with something close to grudging respect and gratitude, waiting silently for Bobby to speak.

And oh, speak he did. “We took our vote,” he began, “to see who was idjit enough to go off to this ‘other earth’ with you.” 

Dean said “Yeah?” at the same time as Sam said “Any takers?”

Bobby smirked, which, if this Bobby was anything like the Bobby Dean’d known so damn well, could mean literally anything, so he was wholly unprepared for what came next. Which was:

“Yeah. Everyone. Me included.” 

Dean caught Sam’s astonished gaze, realized he himself was also gaping, and shut his mouth. “You-” one of them- Dean had no idea if it’d been him or Sam, maybe _both_ -breathed in shock.

“Whatever reason,” Bobby was full on grinning now, which was something Dean was sure this version didn’t do much of, “I got a good feeling about you two.”

And that, it seemed, was that. Bobby and the three chiefs behind him turned and dispersed, Bobby himself heading the way Ketch had been taken.

So.

They had twelve hours to get everybody- _thirty three people_ -to and through the rift. Because the resistance had voted, and _everybody wanted to come._

“What the fuck.” Dean turned back to Sam and Castiel, noting that Mary had drifted not very far away to be warmly accepted by a group of resistance while Jack had jogged over to a circle of children with a grin on his face. 

He seemed a lot lighter, Dean noticed, after the… confession he’d given? Decision he’d made? Dean wasn’t sure what to call the monologue in the car, but whatever it was it had certainly done the kid good.

“Yeah, how the hell are we gonna do this?” Sam agreed, snapping Dean back to their little three person triangle of distress. “We’ve only got twelve hours left, and-” Sam looked around. “ _This many people?_ It’s a two day walk to the rift from here, at least.”

“If this world is laid out like ours, it is a forty one hour and thirty nine minute walk, for the average human, with no breaks.” Cas supplied helpfully.

Dean’s eyes followed Sam’s, glancing around the camp futilely. It had been pitch dark just a few minutes ago, but already early morning light was starting to filter in through the constant haze that covered the sky in this world. It only served to remind Dean that Sam was right- they were running out of time.

Twelve hours, thirty three people. They couldn’t walk, that would take too long. None of the angels they trusted could fly. They needed transportation. His eyes surveyed the junkyard far off to his left, roving over stacks of demolished cars and trucks, piles of scrap metal and wood, bushes, weeds and even trees growing here and there, as if a miracle would somehow jump out at him from the rows of junk.

And- surprisingly, but Dean wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth again -it did, in the form of a large, probably once white but now caked in dirt, barely visible, half hidden by dried up leaves and branches, bus. It wasn’t even completely demolished, looking more or less operational.

Please let it be operational.

Sam seemed to notice Dean was staring at something, so he whirled around to look. “That a bus?” He asked, when his eyes found what had captured the older Winchester’s attention.

“Hey Bobby?” Dean turned around, scanning the camp for the older man.

“Yeah?” Came the gruff reply from a building- well, it was three walls and a roof, like most shelters here, but it was also what passed as a building in this world -where there were a few grimy cots with tattered gray sheets. Bobby was by the only occupied one- Ketch was lying on it, head propped up by a pillow. It must be their infirmary.

“Tell us about that bus.” Bobby's eyes followed to where Dean motioned, landing on the bus. He said something to Ketch and made his way over to them again.

“It was what we used to come here, after a camp we were in was attacked and completely destroyed. Must’ve been… five, six years ago? We haven’t touched it since, but it was operational back then.” He looked at them, calculating, seeming to pick up on where they were going with this. “We got a couple’a good mechanics here, can probably get it goin’ in a few hours. That good?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed.

“Really good. Thanks.” Sam said.

“Now I need to get Ketch’n Charlie's mission report; You should talk to Mary or Andy ‘bout the bus. I take it we don’t got much time left?”

“Eleven hours, fifty three minutes and twelve seconds.” Cas told them solemnly. Bobby surveyed the angel warily, but nodded. 

Dean turned back to Sam and Cas as Bobby went back to Ketch. “Sam, can you get mom or Andy?” At his brothers nod and subsequent departure to go search for said people, Dean quieted, thinking. Trying to calm his racing thoughts with empty platitudes such as _this will work, because it has to._ And while those were all well and good, he needed actual facts. They had twelve hours. Getting the bus to work should take no longer than five. Getting there on the bus….

“Using that bus should take the time it takes to get there from forty one hours to six or seven. This will work, Dean.” Castiel’s words snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to meet the earnest blue eyes of the angel.

“I… yeah.” He knew. It would work, because it had to. “Thanks, Cas.” 

They were quiet for a few moments, enjoying the still, peaceful silence of each other's presence. Then Cas spoke again. 

“Dean, you need to rest. You and Sam both. You haven’t slept in over two days, and from what I remember back when I needed sleep to function, denying your body rest is not a pleasant experience.” Dean huffed in annoyance, but realized that Cas was, actually, right. He felt like his bones were about to melt out of his body, and _everything_ hurt. 

“Yeah, yeah no you’re right. You’re right.” Dean assured the angel. “Once Sam gets back, we’ll both get some shut eye while the bus gets fixed.”

Cas shot a disapproving look at him and opened his mouth with the obvious intention to argue that Dean stop stalling written clearly over his face, but Dean was saved from getting scolded by the angel by Sam’s quiet tread signalling his return.

“Well?”

“Mom’s got a group of resistance organized and working on the bus,” Sam looked over to said bus, where Dean could see a few people- Mary among them -gathering around and beginning to remove plants and hack away at branches. As if sensing their gazes, she looked over to them, smiling and raising a hand in a little wave. Dean returned it.

(Although her curiosity was practically palpable, Mary hadn’t brought up any of her questions regarding Lucifer to either brother since Dean had firmly told her and Jack to wait until they got back to the Bunker. In fact, she seemed to have decided to avoid the topic altogether, only mentioning Lucifer at all if absolutely needed, and even then, it was strictly business.)

(She had no idea how much Dean appreciated that.)

And Dean was _just_ about to grab Sam and force him to sleep, and maybe even get an hour or two of rest himself- it’s not like they had much to do right now -when Gabriel’s voice rang out.

“Heyyyyy Cassie! You’re back! Thank Dad.” Dean turned to see Gabriel trotting up to them, a scowling Lucifer in tow. “Take im’, please, he’s all yours.” He said, motioning to the Devil behind him.

Castiel huffed, immediately stepping back and turning away. “I’d really rather not-”

“No, little bro, I wasn’t askin’- you’re taking him.” Gabriel cut the seraph off. “I am not spending another _minute_ with this douchebag.” He added something in Enochian that made Sam- no longer on Dean’s left but behind him now, to where he’d inadvertently retreated -snort, and lose a sliver of the tension that had immediately sprung up as soon as he’d laid eyes on the older of the two archangels. Cas rolled his eyes, but strode forward, grabbing the unnervingly silent Lucifer’s arm and grudgingly leading him back the way Gabriel had come.

Gabriel watched them go, waiting until both of his brothers were out of sight, before he turned back to the Winchesters.

“I need to talk to you.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at the archangel. Damn it. “Yeah sure.” Dean decided to humor him. “What’s with Lucifer? I thought you wanted to watch him?” Dean asked, remembering the speed with which Gabriel had volunteered before they’d left to rescue Ketch and Charlie.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “That’s just it. I didn’t _want_ to watch him, he’s insufferable- but I did need to see if he knew something.” Ok, cryptic. Dean wasn’t liking this very much.

Neither was Sam, it seemed. The tension hadn’t left his brother's body with Lucifer's departure as it at least somewhat should have, and when Dean glanced back at him he saw the concerned, guarded, bracing frown Sam was leveling at Gabriel.

“So, now-”

“Now I need to talk to you. Both. Probably. Well…” Gabriel glanced between the two of them, muttered something that was _not_ english but still an unnervingly familiar language, to Dean at least, under his breath, then decided that: “Yeah, both.” He glanced around, taking in the people milling about, Charlie and Ketch not far off speaking to Bobby, Mary and a few members of resistance clearing debris away from around the bus, Jack sitting on a crate excitedly talking with a few of the younger refugees- the girl they’d saved from the vamps, _Maggie_ , Dean triumphantly remembered, was among them -and reached out, grabbing Dean and Sam’s arms to pull them away. “Not here.” Was all he said.

Yeah, Dean firmly decided that he didn’t like this.

Gabriel led them strategically into the maze of cars- away from the centre where all the people were, close to the entrance of the camp, and still in the opposite direction of where Cas had taken Lucifer. A minute or two of walking silently and he stopped, deeming a narrow-ish spot between two demolished trucks and a pile of wood from what looked to once have been a wagon good enough. Despite knowing he was safe from all but angels here, Dean couldn’t- and didn’t really try -to stop his eyes from joining Sam’s in flicking about as he hauled himself onto the low truck bed _-gravel on the ground, not ideal for running or falling on, a pile of scrap metal across from him and to his left, sharp but heavy, to his right was Sam, beyond Sam the crushed wooden wagon, behind Dean the a small silver honda stacked onto the truck bed he was sitting on, unstable, bad for cover, in front of him Gabriel and beyond the archangel another truck, forest green, good for cover, surrounded and stacked with old dusty tires; no immediate danger-_ before making himself comfortable, leaning back against the car behind him. Sam stayed standing to his right, making Dean an inch or so taller than him.

“So what is it?” Sam, watching Gabriel warily, hands stuffed into the pockets of his- not his, actually, his was lying in a heap in the camp back in Ohio, stiff with blood, but finders keepers, Dean guessed -jacket, and Dean knew it was to hide their shaking that also hadn’t abated even with Lucifer gone.

It was because he was tired, Dean knew, that the mere reminder of Lucifer being loose and powerful was bothering Sam so much- they’d only seen the archangel for no more than a minute and said archangel hadn’t said a word, and still Sam was panicked enough for Dean to notice.

Yeah, he was forcing his brother to sleep after this conversation. And if Cas came along and made Dean close his eyes for a second too, then, well, Dean wouldn’t mind. 

Gabriel blew out a breath from where he’d leaned against a stack of tires. “Ok, how should I-” He paused, wetting his lips, considering. “So I’m just gonna jump right into this,” he said, before promptly going silent once again.

Dean raised his eyebrows, feeling dread crawling over his skin. Dean can admit that he didn’t know the archangel very well. Or, hell, much at all. He did know, however, from personal experience, that Gabriel _never_ shut up, could talk for _hours_ , about _any goddamn thing_. It drove Dean insane, but he couldn’t necessarily do anything about it. So for Gabriel to _not know how to say something…._

It wasn’t very comforting, was the point. Dean found that he would honestly be perfectly fine if the archangel decided to keep whatever was bothering him to himself, and never speak a word about it again. Because whatever this was, it couldn’t possibly be _good._

“Yeah, there really… isn’t a gentle way to say this. Ok.” Gabriel bit his lip, then continued. “So I’m assuming you two know about the whole deal with only an archangel being able to wield an archangel blade to kill another archangel, right?” At Sam and Dean’s confirming nods, he continued. “Do you know _why_ that is? -And I don’t mean, I don’t mean why Dad decided it would be like that, I mean why it- why it only works like that?”

Gabriel didn’t seem to miss the torrents of confusion rolling off his audience. He sighed, shook his head like he’d been expecting this, said “guess I’ll have to explain.”

“It’s not exactly the actual _archangel_ that matters, not… the _species_ , per say, but more the power. You with me?”

Dean blinked. “So you’re saying if a human were stuffed full of grace, they’d be able to kill an archangel?”

“Despite being a human.” Sam finished.

Gabriel looked a little amused. “Well, if your average human were ‘stuffed full’ of grace, they’d explode, but, yes, theoretically. You understand. Good. That’s good. Now, despite what I just told you, the actual archangel themself still somewhat matters. Because there were only four of us created, and because besides Dad and Auntie Amara we’re the most powerful beings, well, ever, the…” He frowned, pausing, muttered something about english being an annoyingly limited language. “Presence? I guess that would be the best way to describe it. The presence of one of us matters.” He tilted his head, nodded, went on. “So when you say ‘if a human were stuffed full of grace’, it couldn’t just be any human, and it couldn’t just be any grace.”

“It would have to be the grace of that archangel, and the human would have to be…” 

“That archangel’s, what, vessel?” Dean picked from where Sam had quieted.

“Bingo! And probably not just any vessel, I’m guessing it would have to be the perfect vessel.” Gabriel grinned. “Wow, you two aren’t as dim as most angels say you are.”

Most angels say what?

No- Dean shook the thought off. They didn’t have time to get off track. They had twelve hours left. 

So he went with “Wait, ‘guessing’? You don’t know?”

Gabriel leveled a look that was the epitome of _“really, Dean?”_ at the older Winchester. “Yeah, I’m guessing. This hasn’t exactly ever been done before. It’s all” -he waved his hands in the air emphatically- “theoretical.”

Alright, Dean conceded. That made sense.

“Ok, but what’s your point? Why are you telling us this?” Because yeah, Dean realized that both the archangels for which Dean and his brother were perfect vessels for were here, on this world at least, but it’s not like either of the Winchesters had any _grace_ in them. Unless-

No.

Dean slid off the truck bed he’d been sitting on, standing on his feet.

No, no no no.

Gabriel had fallen silent, the slight smile that had been previously on his face gone in an instant. He sighed, looking sympathetically at Sam, which didn’t help turn off any of the alarm bells that had once again started ringing in Dean’s head at Gabriel’s sudden mood change. And, of course, at the realization that-

No. No, he couldn’t be right- he’d simply misinterpreted, well, everything. Because Sam was already fucked up enough, he didn’t need-

_That_.

“Because,” Gabriel began reluctantly, shifting uncomfortably against the tires behind him, and- right, because Dean, Dean’d asked him why he was telling them- oh, god, _why had Dean asked him-_ “after being possessed by Lucifer for days, and then spending two centuries in close proximity in Hell with him, you, Sammy, have a shit ton of his grace left over in you.”

Dean stood frozen, then turned horrified eyes on his brother who had paled, gaze unfocusing. Then Sam promptly and violently wrenched himself to the right and vomited.

And Dean didn’t blame him at all, because, because _fuck-_

A moment, stretched into a minute, stretched into more as Dean stood there dumbly, not even able to move to comfort Sam, who was shaking, eyes closed, leaning against the truck, because Dean hadn’t even _considered-_

_How had they- how had_ he _never realized-?_

“So you’re saying I-” Sam’s broken whisper cut off. He’d straightened up slightly, still shaking, still pale. “I can kill Lucifer?”

He glanced at Dean, eyes all terrified vulnerable hazel, then back at Gabriel, who was nodding. “Theoretically, of course- this is all uncharted territory.” the archangel repeated himself. “But, with the archangel blade,” he also glanced at Dean, then looked back to Sam, shrugging a bit. “Yes.”

Again, a sharp, painful silence hung. Then-

“Well what the hell are we supposed to do with that information?!” Dean exploded. “You, what, you want Sam to-”

“Wait-” Sam’s trembling hand landed on his arm. Dean shut up. “Wouldn’t L-lucifer… know?”

Dean frowned, then found his brother had a point. “Yeah, wouldn’t Lucifer, I don’t know, notice? I mean, it’s _his_ \- grace,” Dean stuttered over the word, voice dropping to just above a whisper when he said it, as if it were some swear and he was a nine year old. “I mean, you did. Notice.”

Gabriel had his hands up as if in surrender, and had stepped back a pace. “Ok, first of all no, I don’t want Sam to- look, honestly, I don’t care what you do with this information.” He answered Dean’s previous accusation. “I just thought you two should know. And second-” he rolled his eyes “-yeah, I did notice, because last time I saw Sam was eight and a half years ago. He’d barely come into contact with my brother back then. Lookin’ at you now,” he glanced at Sam “is like looking at a whole ‘nother person.” 

Sam slammed a hand over his mouth at the words, shutting his eyes and turning away slightly as if he were going to throw up again. Dean hoped he didn’t. They hadn’t exactly eaten much recently. Throwing up with nothing _to_ throw up was painful. 

Gabriel, noticing the younger Winchester’s reaction, winced. “Sorry, that was insensitive. But my point, I mean, Lucifer has-”

“Lucifer’s been with me for the past two centuries.” Sam spoke quietly, nodding a bit, horror and disgust in his eyes.

“So he’s, what-” Dean said, words soaked in revulsion “he’s, he’s used to it now? Overlooks it?” he felt his lip curl up in distaste, unbidden.

“Before, I’d’ve said ‘safe bet’,” Gabriel nods, “but now I’ve spent some time with him, with the intention of figuring out if he notices- he doesn’t.”

“ _That’s_ why you volunteered to stay with him?” Dean said, with no small amount of incredulity. 

“Yeah. Duh. Lucifer _killed me_ , in case either of you have forgotten.” Gabriel lowered his voice from where it had risen. “And I’m not exactly in any condition to stop him if he decides to give up on winning Jack over. Because it seems like that’s the only thing stopping him from smiting us all.” Gabriel rolled his eyes, but Dean could still sense the underlying uneasiness in the youngest archangel. 

Yeah, Dean remembered. He was sure Sam did, too. There was no forgetting the light that had filled every single window of that motel, flooding everything. No forgetting the terrible angelic scream that had reached them all the way in the Impala, driving away. Gabriel had really gone all out with his performance, which, to be fair, did end up working; Lucifer had thought his youngest brother dead.

“Anyways. That's… yeah. That’s what I wanted to talk to you two about. Like I said- I don’t really care what you do with this information, I just, thought you should know.” Dean doesn’t think Gabriel’s telling the truth about that, words to light and detached, but he doesn’t call the archangel out. Instead he stays silent and lets the (hah) messenger slip away, leaving him and a now hyperventilating Sam alone.

He should deal with that. He turns to Sam, and, yeah, Dean’s brother has dropped any and all pretenses of holding it together. He’s still deathly pale, all the blood drained from his face, trembling hands desperately scrabbling for purchase against the smooth side of the truck. “Sam! Sam, hey-” He surged forward, grabbing Sam’s shoulders. His brother flinched violently at the contact, but then his eyes found Dean’s.

And _fuck_ , was there a lot there. But- _(eleven hours.)_ Dean’s brain reminded him. _They didn’t have time-_

Dean banished that thought as soon as it crossed his mind. Because Dean will _make time_ , damnit, because Sam shouldn’t have to fucking _schedule his panic attacks-_

“Dean, I- I _can’t_ -” Sam gasps out. He’s sagging against the metal behind him, his legs obviously on the verge of giving out completely. “It’s _in me_ Dean, oh, _god-_ ” _(“I’ve got demon blood in me Dean, this disease pumping through my veins-”)_ Dean shuts his eyes against the unwanted memory that had risen unbidden to the forefront of his mind. He firmly shoves it away.

“Yes, yes you can, Sam, you can- here.” He hauls his brother a few feet over to sit- _collapse_ -on one of the larger tires lying on the ground to the right of where Gabriel had been standing. “Here, Sammy, breathe for me okay? C’mon, in, out. In and out, you’ve got this. C’mon.” Dean keeps his litany of words running as he crouches down in front of Sam, paying no mind to the sharp gravel digging into the skin of his knees through his jeans. 

Sam shakes his head. “No, you- you don’t understand-” He takes a few gulps of air, sounding like he’d been drowning and Dean had just now pulled him onto land, but his breaths get a bit less shallow, so Dean lets him continue. “I- I felt it, I knew I felt it, I _knew_ \- I thought it was- ptsd, or, or something, but I- _Dean-_ ” The last word comes out strangled, and then Sam’s gone again, breathing too quick, not deep enough, and his eyes are flicking about and, to Dean’s horror, landing on things Dean can’t see, because they’re things that _aren’t there_ , and it’s only then that Dean sees Sam’s hands, clenched tightly together, right thumb digging mercilessly and desperately into the scar on his left palm.

Dean reaches for them, wrenching them apart, successfully bringing Sam’s panicked gaze back onto him. “Sam, stop- just stop, okay? Listen, look- we’re in the Apocalypse World- not even the same universe as the Cage. You’re alright, you got me? Look at me Sam-” Sam flinches, but looks up from their hands. “Sam. You’re safe. You’re okay. So is Mom, and Jack, and Cas, and Me. We’re all gonna be fine.”

“But his gr-” Sam couldn’t finish the word, and instead squeezed his eyes closed, dropping his head down onto their hands and hunching in, shuddering, suddenly so goddamn _small-_

Dean moves forward, enveloping his brother in his arms, resting his chin on top of Sam’s head. “I know. I know, Sam.” He says, voice breaking, because there’s absolutely _nothing_ else he can say to that. Nothing to make it better, nothing that wouldn’t just be another _lie._

Dean hugs Sam, and keeps holding him when he feels the tremors in his little brother's body turn into sobs, keeps holding him even when Sam quiets, keeps holding him as they sit there, for minutes, hours, days, he doesn’t know. 

He keeps holding him until Sam pulls away, scrubbing at his face. Keeps holding him until Sam gets up. Keeps holding him until they head back to the buildings, the people, and everything else.

He’d keep holding Sam forever, because, no matter how much Dean hates it, the fact is that with this- there’s nothing more he can do.

~~~*~~~

Upon returning to the camp, Dean had asked around, and they were led to a small tent- _secluded, empty except for two cots and a table at the back_ -where they were told they could stay. They were also given two bowls of soup, Dean choking his down before forcing Sam, who’d been picking at his disinterestedly, to do the same.

That was about two, three hours ago. Now Dean’s lying on his back, staring up at the tarp ceiling awash in cold, white morning light, ignoring the fact that neither of them are sleeping. He wasn’t expecting himself to, that was for sure, but he’d at least been hoping and praying for Sam to get some rest. He soundlessly rolls his head to the right, glancing at Sam. He’s curled up on his right side, facing away from Dean, knees bent and legs pulled up so that they actually fit on the cot. His- _not his, probably some Dead guy’s_ -jacket is laid over his left side, reaching from his shoulder down to his waist, the sleeve of it swinging a few inches above the ground. Dean can’t see it, but he knows his brother well enough to read the tightness in his shoulders and shifts in his elbows under the jacket that tell him Sam’s pressing into his palm scar again.

And- yeah, Dean concedes. Sam falling asleep was never in the cards.

He hopes the rift is strong enough to let them through. He hopes the rift is still _open_. He hopes Rowena is okay- not that he likes her, really he _doesn’t_ , he just. Doesn’t know.

He hopes they’re able to _get_ to the rift in the first place.

He hopes- completely vainly, he knows -that when they get back to the Bunker everything is fine, and they can both go collapse onto their beds and sleep for at least a day. Maybe two. They’ve earned it.

But he knows, unfortunately, that that won’t happen. They’ll be letting thirty strangers into their home. They’ll need a tour, they’ll need information, they’ll need accommodations, food, money, rooms, water, showers, clothing-

And then of course there’s the Lucifer problem. He promised Sam they’d handle the Devil together, and he stands by that promise, but the terrifying truth of it is he has _no idea how to do that._

He sighs quietly, rolling his head back away from Sam to once again study the ceiling.

As of right now- and he doesn’t need to see the timer to know, he can feel the seconds dripping away one by one, too fast, too many- they’ve got under ten hours left. When they’d been walking through the camp past the bus, Dean had been pleased to see that the debris and plant life around it had all been cleared away, and the vehicle had been pulled out onto the road/clear space just inside the entrance to the camp, hood up, doors open, a few people digging around inside of it. Everyone else he’d passed had been either eating or packing. Everything was fine, everyone was pitching in and helping, and still Dean was uneasy.

Cas had assured him getting to the rift via bus would take no more than seven hours, leaving them with just over an hour before the rift would close. That was enough time to get through it, and still have buffer time left over. It was more than any of them could ask for.

Dean was snapped out of his anxiety induced thoughts by the far off sound of a large engine starting. He rolled off the cot to his feet as Sam shifted and sat up, jacket pooling in his lap, on leg swinging down to the ground and eyes squinting open- _so they had at least been closed,_ Dean thought in relief.

“They got the bus working?” He asked, voice thin and tired.

Dean gave a hum of affirmation. That could only have been the bus. He moved to the entrance, glad to finally have an excuse to get up and _do something, get going, get going, nine hours-_ hearing Sam get up and follow behind him, and upon exiting the tent found himself face to face with Cas.

The angel frowned, taking them both in. “You two did not sleep.” Was his immediate and very correct declaration.

“Were you really expecting us to, Cas?” Dean asked, as Sam slipped his jacket on behind him.

“I wasn’t,” the angel answered. “But I was hoping you would, because I know you don’t like it when I replenish you.”

The seraph was absolutely right. Dean _hated_ when Cas ‘replenished’ him, almost more than he hated angel flight. And it wasn’t because of Cas, it was just because it was- _wrong_. It messed with _everything_. He’d needed sleep and then he didn’t, he’d been thirsty and then he wasn’t, he hadn’t eaten and yet wasn’t hungry. The storm of confusion that followed after was extremely disconcerting- his brain was telling him he hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t slept in a week, hadn’t had water in more, while his body was feeling _none_ of those things. It made him feel like he was going crazy, it was unnerving, it was just… wrong.

Sam, of course, had his own, separate reasons.

Dean grudgingly leaned his head forward, allowing Cas to press his fingers to his forehead, feeling the cool, familiar, easy wash of grace sweep through his body, before stepping past the angel and _not_ glancing back, not wanting to see Sam’s clenched fists, grit teeth, tense body, eyes staring resolutely straight ahead.

“I was sent to fetch you,” Cas spoke once he’d recharged Sam, stepping away from the younger Winchester so that he could face both brothers. Dean turned around. “They have the bus in working order, and would like you to help decide who is riding where.”

Yeah, Dean supposed that made sense. “Lead the way.” He told the angel, and fell into step with Sam behind the seraph. They of course all knew their way around the camp well enough by now, but this gave him the chance to check on his brother.

“You good?” Dean asked quietly as they walked, tilting his head to the left to survey Sam on his right.

Sam snapped his gaze to Dean’s from where it’d been staring ahead at nothing. “I’m-” he cut himself off, right hand slightly rubbing at his chest, left clenched in his pocket. “No.” He finished. “I can’t even look at him right now- what are we gonna do when we get back to the Bunker?” Sam didn’t need to specify who “he” was. “There’s no way he lets us live, lets me- us -get away, he told me- Dean, the things he _said_ -” Sam’s steps stuttered, and he closed his eyes, visibly shaking the memories off.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.” Dean glanced up at Sam. “Have you considered…” He paused. The idea had flitted through his mind on several occasions, and each time he’d dismissed it because something _would_ go wrong, but- “leaving him here? Just… not letting him through the rift?”

To his surprise, Sam nodded. “Yeah, I have, it’s one of the first things I thought of since he- brought me back.” His voice tripped over the words. Dean didn’t blame him. Every time he thought of that monsters hands on his brother, on his _soul-_

Dean was finding it harder and harder to restrain himself from going completely insane on Lucifer, he still could, he remembered how it felt, the Mark singing on his arm, the pleasure of it, the _ease-_

He shoved it all down. He wasn’t invincible anymore. The Mark was gone, and that was a good thing. All he’d accomplish is getting himself killed. And then probably everyone else.

But _god, how he wanted to._

“But I mean, Dean- Lucifer saw how we did the spell.” Sam reasoned. “Yeah, we tried to hide most of it, and he definitely has no idea about the fruit, but it’s still too dangerous. He could side with Michael, lead him to our world.”

“You’re saying the only safe way to go about this is to keep him with us.”

Sam sighed unhappily, shrugging. “Yeah.” There was a kind of dull, resigned fear coloring the word. Dean suddenly remembered Sam’s previous words.

“Sam, listen. Look at this logically. Lucifer still thinks he can win Jack over, right? He’s not going to kill us or, or hurt you” -Sam flinched- “after we cross over. He knows that’s a dealbreaker for Jack.”

Sam nodded, sighing again. “Yeah, logically I get that. I just-” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Centuries, and I still never know with him. But yeah- you’re right, I at least know that.” He sent a strained smile Dean’s way, making Dean’s heart twist painfully.

Any further reassurances he could have given his brother were left unspoken, however, as Mary and Andy came up to them. They’d reached the bus, which was idling in the open space just inside the entrance to the camp, the back door open, a few refugees sweeping dust and dirt out the back. There was also another car like the one they’d used when they went to rescue Ketch and Charlie, parked in front of the larger vehicle. 

“We’re packin’ the resistance into the bus,” Andy spoke. “We were assuming you’d want to ride in there; lead the way to that rift of yours.” He nodded to the car. 

“Yeah, we’ll take the car.” Dean told him after a confirming glance shared with Sam.

“Alright.” Andy glanced at Mary before going on. “Have you two decided what you’re doing with your angels? Particularly the, uh. The Devil?” He glanced back over his shoulder, and Dean followed his gaze to where an obviously annoyed Gabriel was once again stuck with a bored looking Lucifer, hanging back beside the front of the bus. “Because I get the whole ‘insurance’ thing, I do- god knows a few angels on our side would’ve come in handy in the past -but pardon me if I don’t immediately trust them.”

Dean had just opened his mouth to say that, no, they hadn’t thought about what they were going to do with them, and was already not looking forward to _another_ conversation about Lucifer, when he heard:

“He’ll drive.”

Dean’s eyebrows flew up, and he whirled to face the source of the bold statement.

Sam just shrugged at his older brother's surprise. “It makes the most sense.” He continued. “That way we know what he’s doing, and there’s literally a whole bus of people keeping an eye on him. We can leave Cas or Gabe with him too, if that helps.”

Castiel had been looking at Sam with slightly less astonishment than Dean, but surprised nonetheless. As Sam spoke however, he seemed to see the younger Winchester’s point, and agreed. “I can stay with him.” He assured them, obviously taking pity on the younger of his older brothers. 

Which left Gabriel- and, probably Jack -to ride with them. Two celestial beings per vehicle. That wasn’t a half bad plan. 

Andy seemed to realize this too, for he said- albeit with a good dose of resignation and a heavy sigh -“Well, we’re already heading to a magic door to take us to fairyland.” Mary rolled her eyes fondly. Dean bit back a sigh. “Why not have Satan drive us there.”

And that was that.

The resistance was nothing if not efficient, everybody already pretty much completely packed up and ready, waiting around for directions. It took less than thirty minutes to board the bus. They barely managed to get everyone to fit, children sitting on adults’ laps, people squeezed to three to a seat, but still, nobody complained. They seemed to have firmly chosen this, and were sticking with their choice.

Dean found his respect for these people growing by the minute.

Once all of the resistance was seated, Mary taking a position with Charlie at the back of the bus- they’d sit at the open door -and Bobby speaking in low tones about something with Sam, standing by the doors at the front, where he’d be next to Cas with Lucifer, Dean took said seraph and headed over to the two archangels, who seemed to be honest to god _bickering_ in Enochian. As soon as Lucifer saw them, however, he switched to english, evidently for Dean’s benefit.

How kind.

“I want to see my son.” He demanded, glaring.

“I _told you_ ,” Dean said as Cas came forward and grabbed him roughly, “you’ll have another go at it when we’re _home_. If you get us there safely, that’s your reward.” He smiled sweetly. Lucifer practically growled. “Now come on, you’re driving.” Dean motioned to the bus.

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up. “You’re letting _Lucifer_ drive?” He asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged, echoing his brother's words from earlier. “This way we know what he’s doing. Cas and an entire bus full of capable people’ll be watching him.”

Gabriel considered for a moment, eyes narrowed, before his hand released his older brother’s shoulder. “Whatever.” He muttered. “As long as I ain’t with him.”

“You won’t be.” Dean pointed to the military jeep in front of the bus. Jack was already in one of the back seats, and Sam was climbing up into the shotgun. “Get in next to Jack.”

He called to Cas, who was already heading to the bus with Lucifer, “You’ve got him?” and at a confirming nod followed Gabriel to the jeep.

Climbing into the driver's seat, Dean glanced back. The camp behind them was awash in daylight now, and empty- clean, even -not looking at all like it’d been left in a hurry. His eyes moved to the bus, and Bobby, hanging out the front doors, caught his gaze. At his nod, Dean started the motor, throwing the jeep into movement with eight hours and fifty minutes left. Driving there would take seven hours, assuming nothing happened. That left them with barely over an hour of buffer time. He heard the bus start up behind them, and as they drove forward and out of the camp he glanced back at it one last time.

And he was perfectly aware the thought was selfish- this was, or had been, these peoples’ _home_ -but he hoped they’d never have to see this place again.

~~~*~~~

_The rift was still open._

They came to a stop, and all Dean could do for a moment was stare, openmouthed.

Because he hadn't actually- Lucifer had _said_ , but-

Before their eyes, there it was. Thin and flickering weakly, but still there.

“It’s closing.” Sam pointed out, snapping Dean out of his awed state. Sam stood, stepping down out of the jeep, turned back to the bus, which had Bobby stepping out of it, shouting “We’re running out of time, c’mon!”

And they were. It had taken them seven hours and thirty minutes to get here because they’d been discovered a little over half way through by a group of angels. Gabriel and Jack had dealt with them as quickly and efficiently as they could, but it had still cost them some time.

They now had less than an hour to get through the rift. Which shouldn’t be a problem, except the rift was closing before their very eyes, and they needed to get _thirty three people_ through it.

A whooshing, crackling, by now familiar noise drew Dean’s gaze back to the rift, and-

“Oh, hell yeah!”

It was-

“How’s that possible?”

The rift was growing _stronger_ , shining brighter, fuller, no longer flickering but hanging boldly in the air.

Dean met his brother’s gaze. “Rowena.” Sam whispered, awed.

“Rowena.” Dean agreed.

“Let’s go!” Dean shouted over his shoulder. Resistance and refugees alike were pouring out of the bus, out of the front with Bobby and Cas and Lucifer, out of the back with Mary and Charlie, staring open mouthed at the golden tear in space.

Gabriel and Jack had already exited, starting towards the rift, and Dean caught up to them, looking over his shoulder at Sam who was hurrying the rest of the people along. People who were staring at the rift- perhaps no longer skeptically, but uncertainly and suspiciously for sure. 

Dean honestly didn’t blame them.

“Cas, Ketch- go through, show ‘em how it’s done.” Dean ordered. They’d decided that Castiel would go through first, to protect them from any threats that may have appeared in the Bunker without their knowledge- they still had no idea what Lucifer had done when he’d escaped, and anything could be waiting on the other side. Gabriel, Lucifer, and Jack would stay behind until the last person had gone through, though, because nothing that could threaten them from home could rival the constant unknown threat of Michael and this worlds’ angels.

Cas went through. Ketch went through. Mary, Bobby, Andy, a few more.

“See you on the other side, bitches,” a grinning Charlie threw over her shoulder.

Then she went through, followed by Maggie, and more, and more. Dean watched, mesmerized, as one victorious flash of gold after another signaled another person leaving this horrid place.

“Woah woah woah- hold up-” Dean heard the click of a weapon behind him. Turning, he saw Sam holding Lucifer back with his rifle while simultaneously trying to keep himself bodily as far away from the archangel as possible.

“What? My son and I are going through that rift.” Dean heard the commanding undertones in the words, saw Sam physically stop himself from obeying the Devil.

“No. We need you three here in case something goes wrong.” Dean stepped in, shoving his shoulder between his brother and Lucifer. “Remember the whole point of you being on the team? Insurance, douchebag.” 

Dean glanced behind him, seeing Gabriel and Jack ushering people through the rift. Looked over Lucifer's shoulder, taking in the long line of people, faces set determinedly, ready to leave their world. 

A sizzle. Another whoosh. Crackling. One bright flash after another. And another, and another, and another, fifteen people left, then thirteen, then ten, then nine, and the rift was still there, five people left and this was _working_ -

A loud, ominous thunderclap sounded above them, and Dean’s eyes were torn away from the rift to watch helplessly as an explosion hit the remaining three people who’d been sprinting towards the rift, sending their bodies flying, landing yards away, necks and arms and legs turned at unnatural angels, terrifyingly still and no, no _no-_

“N-no” he heard beside him, weak, pathetic, practically whimpered, and turned to see Sam’s face of horror, _terror_ , and now Dean felt it too, the air was ringing with grace, untamed and wild, so strong he felt as if it would bowl him over any second, and he _knew_ what he would see if he looked up, but he did so anyways and-

Michael.

He didn’t see the actual vessel first. Smoke and dust were lazily swirling through the air, making him squint and breathe out sharply to clear his sinuses. He heard footsteps, saw giant, not-quite-there nine foot long wings folding in on themselves and disappearing as the ringing of grace subsided, was also reigned in. Heard the cocky, collected, superior voice carry through the dust.

“Gentlemen.”

Finally, the smog cleared and out stepped Michael, the oldest archangel, hands in the pockets of his dark trench coat, walking like he owned the place- which, Dean supposed with a sinking feeling of dread, he quite literally did, especially now that all the resistance had crossed over and what was left was- Dean forcefully stopped his eyes from glancing at the bodies. He felt Gabriel and Sam shudder next to- or, rather, _behind_ him-they’d both stepped back -at the single, simple, casually spoken word. Dean knew why. He’d heard it too. The terrifying, heart stopping threat held in those nine letters, growling _this is my turf, you’re on it, I’m going to kill you._

The rift whispered faintly behind them, quieter now that nobody was crossing through. And didn’t that remind Dean. They could _not_ let Michael get through the rift. They’d promised these people they would be safe there. They were so close, they’d _gotten them through._

Almost all of them, that is.

And, although he was already, _had been_ already, Dean would be _damned_ if he let Michael go through and kill them all with a snap of his fingers, a lazy flick of his eye.

The silence rang almost as loudly as Michael's grace had, so the sharp snap of twigs as Lucifer moved forwards was impossible to miss. 

Michael smirked. “Lu.” he tilted his head towards his not-brother. “You don’t _really_ wanna try this again, do ya?”

Wait- again? When had-?

“Um… yeah.” Lucifer stopped a few meters away from the older archangel.

And Dean realized it didn’t fucking _matter_ when and how Lucifer had fought this Michael- all that mattered was buying enough time for the rift to close just after they’d gone through it.

Simple.

Their luck, however feeble, seemed to still be somewhat present, as Michael was alone. Although, Dean supposed, he could easily have a few hundred angels ready if needed in less than a millisecond. He probably simply wanted to deal with this himself.

Dean felt oh so honored.

Michael laughed. “Right. Sorry Lucy, I’m not particularly worried about you. Or interested. I killed my Lucifer, I can easily kill you.” His eyes slid off Lucifer's face to focus on something behind him.

Someone.

Jack.

“Now _Jack_ ,” Michael smirked, stepping forward. “I’ve been waiting quite a while to see you again. You’ve been quite the nuisance.” 

Jack moves forward then also, coming to a stop beside his father. “Michael.” Jack says, voice all matter-of-fact. Dean can feel the air like a solid thing, vibrating with the angry grace of two archangels and a nephilim. “I’m going to kill you.”

Michael barked a laugh. “Are you now? You’re gonna kill me.” He drawled. “You’re gonna kill me like I killed all your friends?”

Jack bristled, but Lucifer beat him to it. “Hey! That’s my son you’re talking to.”

Michaels eyebrows shot up. “He’s _your_ son?” The look of surprise was quickly replaced by amusement. “Can’t say that surprises me. He always did strike me as a bit…” His eyes rove over the two beings in front of him, sparkling with mirth. “Weak.”

Lucifer snarled, and Dean winced at the angelic voice of the Devil bleeding through. He felt Sam duck his head behind him. He turned around, grabbing Sam’s arm.

“Go through the rift,” he said, voice low. Sam shook his head. “ _Go_ , Sam!” Dean said, firmer. Sam didn’t deserve to have to watch this, didn’t deserve to stand there and just _let_ trigger after trigger wash over him. 

Sam shook his head again, eyes terrified but determined- determined for what, Dean couldn’t even begin to guess. Strong winds picked up, messing Sam’s hair, the creaks of branches above them drowning out the soft crackling of the rift behind them, still glowing strongly. Just as Dean was about to forcefully push Sam at it, Lucifer, behind them, struck at Michael.

The sheer power of Lucifer’s blast, even while not aimed at them, aimed _away_ from them, still sent chills running over Dean. Cold, cold, silvery grace lashed out like a whip from the Devil, lighting up the area in a flash of white. It was nothing compared to the returning blow from Michael, however, and Dean saw sheer, tangible power rushing towards him, it was going to _obliterate_ them and he could do nothing about it-

And then Dean was on his back and the wave of grace was whooshing above him, it was slamming past the rift, it was knocking trees back, it was gone.

Dean’s view of the bright gray sky was replaced by a panting Sam. “Glad I didn’t leave?” He asked, grinning weakly, rolling himself off Dean from where he’d landed when he’d pushed them both to the ground.

And yeah, alright, so maybe Dean’d have been dead now if Sam had gone. 

That didn’t mean Dean still didn’t want him to leave.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice brought Dean back from his halfhearted musings. His brother was looking up towards where the bus was now on it’s side, having been knocked over by Lucifer's blow. Said archangel was now also on the ground, having taken the brunt of Michaels blast, but was swiftly getting to his feet as Michael approached. 

“Dean, we need to find cover.” Said Sam as Jack put in his ten cents, golden lightning snapping out once, twice, making Michael stutter back and allowing Lucifer to get to his feet, lashing out once more. “We get hit by any of that we die.”

“Yeah, I know, I-” Dean was cut off as a hand grabbed the back of his jacket and he was pulled into someone’s chest, a surprised yelp escaping his lips as he’s twisted around, elbow hitting the ground painfully, and the view of the battling celestial beings switched to that of the rift, already growing weaker, and Dean’s reminded that they need to get through it, and soon. 

He looks to his right in confusion to see that Sam, face bewildered, had apparently experienced the same manhandling, and they both glance up to see the source of it was Gabriel, who Dean had honestly completely forgotten about, right hand still fisted in Dean’s jacket and left gripping Sam, back turned to the fight, face screwed up as if bracing for something.

And then that something hits them.

Or, rather, _doesn’t_ , and Dean watches in unashamed openmouthed mesmerization as rivers of grace, gold and silver, Jack and Lucifer, flow around them. Grace that should be _obliterating_ them, reducing them to atoms, not _parting for them_. How-?

And then it’s over and gone, and Gabriel unfurls the tiniest bit, opening his eyes, looking down at the bewildered pair of Winchesters before him.

“What?” He asks. “You said you needed cover.” At their perplexed silence, he rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath. “ _Wings_.” He clarifies. “I covered you.” 

“You-” Dean starts to say, but is _again_ cut off as they hear an enraged shout of _“Enough!”_ from behind them, and Gabriel's eyes go wide and he does that hunching thing again that Dean now realizes must him _wrapping his wings around them,_ and right on time, too, as Michaels hot, searing, fiery orange grace sweeps across the area, making Gabriel grunt and stagger forward slightly on his knees when it reaches them.

And now that Dean’s looking for it, he sees the absolutely massive outline- just like Michael’s had been -and it hurts to look at it because his body is telling him it’s _there_ , and his brain is telling him it _isn’t_ , and then Michaels grace has hurtled past them completely and it’s gone, and all Dean sees is Gabriel, plain and simple.

The silence behind them after the last roaring wave of power is nearly deafening. Gabriel stands, slowly turning, and Dean and Sam- who, Dean notices, had up until now been staring at the youngest archangel in terrified awe -are left behind lying on the ground staring out over the ruined field.

And it is a field now, and it is ruined. Any trees, however huge, that had been growing anywhere in proximity are now bowled over, snapped, reduced to splinters. The bus and jeep they’d come on are both completely wrecked, the bus looking like it was slammed into by another, much larger, bus, and the jeep simply torn apart. The bodies of the three refugees that Michael killed- that they _failed, they didn’t have to die, they could have saved them had they been just a bit faster, more careful, they could have-_ are now unrecognizable, all melted skin and burned cloth and hair and broken bones. There are dark, ugly, black burns in streaks on the ground, and dust is settling over them, clearing the air.

Michael is standing, panting, _seething_ with rage. Jack is lying on the ground yards away to Michaels left, struggling to get to his elbows, Lucifer on the right, busy coughing. Dean looks on in horror as blood speckles the Devil's lips.

Lucifer stops coughing, the harsh breathing of the three angels and the softly crackling rift now the only noise, previous violent winds completely died down to nothing. Everything is still, frozen almost, Jack and Lucifer still on the ground, Gabriel warily watching Michael, Sam and Dean lying on their stomachs, Michael standing unnaturally still, eyes closed, breathing heavily.

Then Michael moves, eyes opening, head raising, and his eyes lock on the Winchesters, head tilting slightly in puzzlement. _How are you two not dead,_ his eyes seem to say. And then, inevitably, his eyes shift further up, and he sees Gabriel.

He breathes out, and when he speaks, his voice is soft, disbelieving. “Can it be?” Michael blinks, stepping forward, and Dean _feels_ him reach out with his grace, prodding, making sure. Sam makes a choked noise beside him as it passes over them. “ _Gabriel?_ ” The archangel asks. His expression changes, softens from the hard cold fury, becomes- for a second, Dean thinks -vulnerable and hopeful, but then it’s gone, steel wall slamming back down into place, and Dean can’t help but wonder what this world’s Gabriel could have been like, could have done, to make _that look_ cross the oldest archangels face, however briefly.

Gabriel glances down at them, eyes wide, body tense, looking like a caged animal. Then he glances back to the rift, now almost as thin and weak as it was when they’d first gotten here. He turns back to them. “Go,” he urges. “It’ll close soon. I can buy some time.”

He can-

_He can’t!_ Dean realizes with a new bout of terror. Gabriel was the weakest out of all the angels they had- weaker than even Cas, and Michael had sent both Lucifer and Jack to the ground. There was no way Gabriel would survive this.

Sam seemed to come to the same conclusion, slowly raising himself up to his feet, a strangled, frantic “Gabriel _don’t-_ ” stopping the youngest archangel. Dean’s body felt like it was on autopilot, following his brother's motions as he too got to his feet.

Gabriel looks back at them over his shoulder, closing his eyes. He shakes his head. “All I did on our earth was run.” He says. “I should’ve done more back when the first apocalypse was happening. I’m done running.”

He starts again towards Michael after throwing over his shoulder a frantic, hissed “It’s _closing_. Go!” when they don’t move, but Dean _can’t_ , he can’t move, his brain is screaming at him to go, _go_ , because Gabriel's right, the rift _is_ closing, but Jack is still here and so is Gabriel, and Sam is motionless beside him, staring in utter openmouthed despair as Gabriel slips out his archangel blade, Michael doing the same, and then they’re swinging, flitting around each other inhumanly fast, twisting and turning and kicking up dirt as they skid this way and that. Dean hears the metallic otherworldly singing as the blades are whipped through the air, sees the gold glinting, _feels_ the vibrations down to his bones when blade meets blade. 

It’s a dance, dangerous, and beautiful, and horrifying, and _amazing_ , and Dean forgets the rift, forgets Castiel and Ketch and Charlie and Mary and Bobby and Rowena and all the people waiting in the Bunker, forgets Lucifer and Jack still struggling to their feet, forgets _Sam_ -

And then the spell is broken, Gabriel spinning away with a cry, clutching at his side, too-bright-too-look-at angelic essence shining between his fingers, bleeding into the air. Both archangels are panting, circling each other, and then they’re at it again. This bout ends quicker, with Michael slamming the hilt of his blade into Gabriel's shoulder and the younger archangel’s blade hit out of his hand, rolling across the ground, coming to rest innocently between Jack and the rift. Gabriel raises his arms to block a hit, twirling out of the way of a second one and using the momentum of his spin to hit Michael with seemingly all his archangelic strength across the face, the blow ringing out like a thunderclap. Michael staggers back, but stays on his feet, swiping at Gabriel’s legs, slashing at the youngest archangel’s left thigh and then Gabriel’s down on the ground, scrabbling away until an injured shoulder gives out, sending him completely onto his back, Michael standing over him, disgustingly sweet smile on his face, like he’s _enjoying killing his younger brother_ , and it’s sick, _revolting_ , because even when Dean was in the exact same position, standing with Death’s scythe over Sam and driven by the Mark, he hadn’t _wanted to_ -

And they should run forward and _do something, stop Michael, anything,_ but instead Dean is grabbing at Sam and Sam is grabbing at Dean, both brothers stumbling back towards the rift because in reality they can do _nothing_ , and Michael flips the blade, point pointing accusingly at Gabriel’s heart, and Michael’s arms start to swing down-

And _stop_.

Because Jack is on his feet, arms thrown out towards Michael, eyes flaring gold, face a frozen mask of frantic fear and fury.

And then Jack is on the ground again, on his hands and knees, shuddering after the strength it must have taken to stop an at full power archangel in his tracks, but it’s okay, it’s _okay_ , because Gabriel is still trembling on the ground _unharmed_ , and Michael is no longer on his feet but full out wrestling with Lucifer, who had thrown himself bodily onto the oldest archangel as soon as Jack’s power started to falter. 

There’s another loud _crack_ , and when the blinding light clears Michael has thrown Lucifer off, the younger archangel rolling violently away, but as soon as Michael gets to his feet Jack is back on him, ducking away from Michael’s swinging blade, dodging a punch, turning Michael around so Lucifer can come back in and swipe at his older brother with Gabriel’s blade that he must have picked up, and then Gabriel himself slides in, kicking at Michael’s legs, Jack throwing him sideways, Lucifer bringing the blade down. Michael blocks, but it’s distraction enough for Gabriel to elbow him in the face and go for Michael’s blade. Michael drops down, rolling away, rising to his feet just behind Lucifer and thrusting his blade forward, Lucifer just barely moving sideways in time to escape being impaled, but stumbling away all the same clutching at his side, grace seeping through his fingers mimicking Gabriel’s wound from earlier.

Then Jack is hitting Michael with another wave of sheer _power_ , but the nephilim must somehow know exactly where Sam and Dean are, because the wave dissipates right before reaching them, and Michael is thrown forward into Gabriel who locks his arms around the older archangels neck and kicks out at his hand, foot connecting with the hilt of Michael's archangel blade, sending it soaring through the air- spinning, shining, graceful- to land with a dull thud a few feet away from them. Dean distantly registers his brother stooping to pick it up.

Lucifer is up on his feet again and surging towards Michael, hitting the archangel in the stomach, in the face, as Gabriel knees Michael in the back from behind, and Lucifer smacks him to the side and Michael _screams_ in fury, whirling and throwing his arms out, blasting the two younger archangels off him, face twisted in rage and pain.

Suddenly, he seems to abruptly change tactics, and Dean’s heart practically stops in terror as Michael swings around to face the rift, which has grown even weaker now, small and flickering, and Michael is starting towards it, Gabriel and Lucifer struggling up behind him, too slow to do anything but watch in horror as they _fail_ , as Michael gets closer and closer to the rift, to the other world, to their _home_ , and Dean is pushing Sam back and Sam is pulling Dean out of the enraged archangels way, but Michael doesn’t even spare them a glance, he’s _steps away_ , he’s reaching for it, his fingertips brushing the edge of it-

And they jerk to a stop, and they’re pulled back, and Jack’s hand is on Michaels shoulder, his other hand coming up behind the archangel with Gabriel’s blade, and then it is being driven into his back, deeper and deeper, so deep that the other end sticks out the other side of Michaels chest, and the archangels face would be comical to watch if it weren’t so terrifying, wide shocked eyes already filling with light, mouth opening in a scream, loud, angelic, and then light is everywhere and then suddenly nowhere, because someone has thrown themselves bodily at Dean, at Sam, bringing them down to the ground again, and Dean feels something that _isn’t there_ wrapping tightly around them as the ground _shakes_ , any trees that were still standing crashing down, and Sam’s arms are fisted in Dean’s jacket and Dean’s arms are wrapped around his little brother, one hand buried in Sam’s hair, and Gabriel- Dean’s assuming, since he was the only one close enough to them -pressing in further, wings completely encasing the two humans, shielding them from what would have been certain death, and Dean doesn’t know if he’s imagining or not, but as the world seems to practically end around them, he thinks he feels _feathers_ , firm, sharp, solid, _manifested_ , trembling against his back.

Dean didn’t know how long they sat there, huddled together, how long the hurricane around them raged, how long everything was awash in pure archangelic essence, how long the air was ripped apart by Michaels scream, how long the howling grace beat at everything around them except them, two piss poor excuses for humans, shielded by an archangel's wings. It was most likely only a few seconds, no more than a minute, and Dean always thought it was a little cliche when characters in stories said that seconds felt like hours, but in those moments, he could honestly say they did.

And it was not over as quick as it had started. The howling took its time to subside, the ground still trembling lightly, branches still breaking and falling, their crashes carrying all the way to wherever they were from far away. The world was still shimmering with lingering grace when Gabriel deemed it safe enough to pull away, and an unnatural wind was still blowing, making Sam's hair tickle Dean’s neck. Dean raised his head, eyes wide, and he thought he saw a glimmer of gold in the air behind Gabriel but when he looked it was gone, and Dean was left staring at Michaels vessels dead body, lying innocent and motionless on its back, face turned to stare towards Dean and Sam and Gabriel, burned beyond recognition, skin melted to display patches of charred bone here and there. A drop of blood lands on Michael’s forehead, and Dean’s eyes zero in on it, flicking up to where it fell from.

Jack is standing over Michael’s corpse, gaping at it, expression a mix of shock, terror and wonder, loosely holding Gabriel’s bloody archangel blade. Another drop gathers at the tip, hanging there for a few seconds, then follows the previous one’s path through the air down to the ground.

Dean distantly notices the wind has died down to a barely there breeze, the ground has stilled. None of them say a word, completely captivated by the dead archangel, melted face, bloody chest, limp body, eighteen foot wingspan burned into the ground. It’s the last thing that’s captured Dean’s attention above everything else, the dark shadows of massive feathers, the very tip of the right wing ending just a few feet away from Dean. He could lean forward, reach out and _touch_ it.

He doesn’t. He stares. Sam stares beside him, barely breathing, and so does Gabriel. As it is, none of them notice the movement behind Jack until it’s too late. Lucifer runs swiftly, silently, grabbing Jack around the middle, left hand easily snatching Gabriel’s blade out of Jack’s hand, rising up immediately to be held at the nephilim's throat. By the time Dean’s on his feet, shouting, and Sam starting forward, followed by Gabriel, Lucifer has already backed up with a stunned, shocked into pliancy Jack, firmly restricting the nephilim's movement, arms held down and archangel blade pressing into the kids’ throat. As Sam and Gabriel step forward Lucifer presses the blade in deeper, raising an eyebrow as if inviting them to try and get closer.

And what does he think he’s going to gain? He’s, he’s- _what is he doing?_

“ _Lucifer_ ,” Gabriel barks, eyebrows up high, hands spread out. “The hell do you think you’re doing? The rift is _closing_ , we need to get through!”

As if to confirm the younger archangel's words, the rift sizzles loudly as it dips where it’s hanging, returning to its original position a few seconds later but now considerably smaller. Would they even be able to cross through a rift that small? It’s barely glowing now, sparking faintly, thin as a long blade of grass, barely four feet long.

Lucifer just scoffs. “That’s a you problem, bro. I’m not going through the rift and neither is Jack.”

_What?_

_What is he-?_

Lucifer shakes his head, looking completely baffled. “Do you guys, like, actually think I’m stupid? I know you don’t, Sam, you know better-” Lucifer sends Dean’s brother a wink that makes Dean’s blood boil. Sam, being Sam, just closes his eyes and seems to physically shove his terror down, swallowing.

That can’t be healthy.

Then again, Dean isn’t one to judge other people’s coping mechanisms.

“-but you guys? Seriously? Gabriel? I feel betrayed.” He shook his head, lower lip pushing out in a pout.

“What’s your _point_?” Dean ground out. Now that he’d seen the rift he couldn’t stop glancing at it, eyes flicking from the rift to Jack like a ping pong ball.

Lucifer has the gall to roll his eyes. “The angel cuffs don’t work on me in _this universe_ , they do in that one. Don’t think I don’t know all you’ll do is happily slap ‘em on me and stuff me in another _cage_.” Lucifer spat the word, his hand jerking a little, knife nicking Jack’s skin and smearing Michael’s blood in a line across the nephilim's neck. “Michael’s _dead_!” He continued, laughing. “ _Killed by my son._ ” He nodded at the corpse a few feet in front of him. “Here is a universe _full_ of angels, waiting for someone to step in and take command. Perfect training grounds for young Jack here, and once we’re ready- and we will be -we can easily cross over. Hell, we can go to _all_ the worlds. Forget ruling _the_ world- we could literally rule _worlds_ , plural.” Lucifer grinned maniacally.

“Now, I know Jack isn’t exactly on my side here, but I can forgive that, I can. All he needs to do is spend a little time with me, see for himself my true nature.”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dean couldn’t believe this was happening at all- sure, Lucifer was completely correct in his hypothesis-Cas was, in fact, waiting on the other side of the rift with angel cuffs at the ready. But they’d been so close! They _were_ so close. Michael was _dead_ , everyone but them was safe and on the other side in the Bunker. But the rift was fucking closing, and Lucifer-

“Your _true nature_?” Dean growled, snapping. “Your _true damn nature_ is to _lie_ , and _kill_ , and _torture_. You’re-” Dean broke off with an agonized yell, falling to his knees, hands grabbing and scrabbling at his chest, the ground, anything to just make the pain _stop, please oh god_ please _make it stop he’d do anything-_

And astonishingly, it _did._

He looked up, gasping, and saw a pale faced Sam also on the ground, on his hands and knees, hair curtaining his eyes from Dean, but he was looking up, and Dean followed his gaze, and didn’t understand.

Lucifer wasn’t holding Jack anymore- it seemed like Jack had somehow pushed him away, Lucifer now standing bewildered between the nephilim and Sam, between Dean and the rift. Gabriel was next to Jack- Dean wasn’t even going to _try_ to understand how he had gotten there, but he was holding the nephilim up, putting himself bodily between father and son, though Lucifer didn’t seem to care- the Devil was doubling over coughing, one knee giving out as violent, hacking wheezes escaped him, and when he finally straightened back up, swaying, he looked utterly spent.

“What the hell.” Lucifer muttered, bringing his hand away from his mouth only to find it red with blood, and blood was dribbling from his lips and running down his chin and Dean suddenly remembered, remembered Lucifer taking Michaels blow full on, remembered the coughing and the flecks of red from earlier, and it hit him that Lucifer was _weak_ , Lucifer was _injured_ -

And suddenly that didn’t matter at all anymore because Sam, who’d been on the ground shaking in pain and terror moments ago, Sam, who was the closest out of all of them to Lucifer now, Sam, who shouldn’t _ever_ have to be that close to the Devil, Sam reached into his jacket- _not his, actually_ Dean thought absurdly -and Sam _lunged_.

Sam lunged, throwing himself up, forward, right at Lucifer, face still pale, eyes wide and frantic, mouth open in a silent scream of probably centuries worth of rage and pain, and Lucifer is spinning around, or maybe _being_ spun around, because Sam’s hand is on the Devil’s shoulder mimicking Jack a few minutes ago with Michael- and Dean cannot _believe_ it’s been barely ten minutes since Michael died, it feels like a literal eternity has passed -giving Dean the strongest deja vu he’s ever experienced and suddenly he _knows_ what’s going to happen before it does, he saw Sam pick the blade up but dismissed it and now-

Lucifer’s eyes glow red and he rasps something in Enochian but it’s too little, it’s too late, because Sam is- _Dean’s little brother_ is still moving forward right at the Devil, left hand expertly flipping something gold, sharp, lethal and driving it forward with all the momentum he has and Dean sees the exact moment the archangel blade pierces Lucifer’s stomach, blood blooming immediately quickly followed by silvery, swiftly spilling grace, shock filtering into the Devil’s eyes, and then Sam is pushing it in further, twisting it, switching his grip on the hilt to pull it out and as he does it sends blood spraying in an arc, the Devil’s blood, Lucifers, because _Sam is killing Lucifer_ and Dean’s brain can’t seem to focus on anything else, and Lucifer starts to fall to his knees but Sam doesn’t let him, roughly holding him up, leaning in, grinning ferally, teeth bared, eyes wild and accusing, and his lips are moving, saying something in- Dean assumes -Enochian, because try as he might Dean cannot make out any words he recognizes, and then Sam is smirking, his hands are trembling but Dean’s little brother is _smirking_ , and then his arm is moving again, sweeping through the air towards the Devil, forcing Michael’s blade into Lucifer’s chest, right into the vessel’s heart, and Sam’s eyes are locked with Lucifer’s as the archangel _screams_.

For a moment all Dean can do is stare, uncomprehending, and then the moment is over and his brain is going into overdrive because Lucifer-

Lucifer was-

And _Sam-_

And Gabriel was shouting something over the screaming, the roaring, and Dean didn't think. He ran forward, sprinting towards Sam, towards a kneeling, dying, screaming in agony Lucifer, Dean grabbing Sam’s arm as light and grace begins to pour from Lucifer’s face- _because Lucifer had just been-he’d-Sam had_ stabbed the Devil in the heart- but all Dean can focus on, all Dean can remember, is disappearing before their eyes, smaller and smaller, thinner than a hair, slipping away-

The rift. The rift, the rift, _the rift_ -

It swells in a shower of sparks, gleaming as Gabriel hauls Jack through, throwing one wide eyed glance over his shoulder to make sure Sam and Dean are following before both archangel and nephilim are gone, the rift immediately reverting back to its pathetic, weak, barely there state except it doesn’t stop, it continues slipping shut, winking away into nonexistence right as Dean reaches for it, they weren’t going to make it, oh, god they were going to be stuck here- no, they were going to _die_ , the light around them now so bright that Dean couldn’t keep his eyes open as the Devil died right behind them, he felt pure grace exploding out behind them and Dean wrapped his arms around Sam as tightly as he could and _jumped_ , futilely pushing as hard as he could against the cold, freezing, burning, flaming ground in the direction of where the rift had been, and he thinks he might be yelling but he can’t hear anything above the all consuming, horrendous angelic wailing slicing through the air- and then there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, no whooshing gales, no scorching grace, no noise whatsoever; they’re dead.

At least that’s what Dean assumes.

But then he feels his knees impacting with something smooth, hard, feels his hands still wrapped tightly around Sam, feels something warm and wet dripping from his ears, something that feels like blood and maybe that’s why he can’t hear anything, and then he feels warm hands on his body. Dean’s _been_ dead, been in Heaven and Hell and Purgatory and it’s not like this, it’s not warm and it doesn’t smell of leather and books and dust and herbs and the _Bunker_ -

The Bunker.

Is that where they are?

But they can’t be, because Lucifer was, and the rift, and- Dean’s spiralling thoughts are cut off as he feels fingers on his forehead, feels cool, calming, familiar seraphim grace sweep through him and-

“-Dean, _Dean_ , open your eyes-”

“-Sam-”

“-what _happened_ -”

“-you’re alright-”

-he can _hear_ again, hear Mary, and Charlie, and Bobby, and a dozen other voices he can’t recognize, but one voice is cutting through to him above all the others, deep, warm, _Castiel_ , and _oh._

They’re in the Bunker.

They made it through.

They’re _safe._

He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just slumps down onto the ground, onto a limp and unmoving- _but breathing, Dean can feel his chest rising, his heart beating_ -body that must be Sam, hearing Rowena’s voice ordering people away. The last somewhat coherent thought he has before he _finally_ passes out- _three days, he hasn’t slept in_ three days -is a litany of _Sam killed Lucifer, Lucifer is dead, the Devil is_ dead, _his little brother_ killed the Devil, _Lucifer was dead, was dead, was dead, because Sam killed- the Devil, the Devil was-_

Dead.

Dead, after a _decade_ of haunting their lives. After _three lifetimes_ of haunting Sam-

Dead, dead, dead, Lucifer was dead.

Lucifer was finally, _finally_ , dead, which meant something, it meant something, it meant-

It meant they were safe.

And _that_ was the thought that finally had Dean falling from consciousness.

They were finally safe.

~~~*~~~

Dean wakes up like he always does, like only someone with a life like his could- swiftly and silently, both instantly aware of everything he could possibly be aware of without opening his eyes, and yet showing no outward signs of actually being awake.

It’s probably because of this and only this that the first thing he realizes is that he’s in the Bunker, he’s safe, he’s not on Apocalypse World anymore, and judging by the memory foam he’s lying on, and the smell of gun oil, dirty laundry and dusty wood he’s in his room.

Huh. He doesn’t remember going to his room. He remembers….

Dying.

No, that’s not right. He didn’t- _they_ didn’t die, they made it through, made it through the rift, to the Bunker, they had to, because the rift was closing and they would’ve died because….

And then everything slams home. Michael, on the ground, dead. Jack, manhandled by Lucifer, then held up by Gabriel. Gabriel himself, bleeding, weak, throwing himself onto them, shielding them from Michael. Lucifer-

_Lucifer-_

And then, inevitably: _Sam._

As soon as that last thought crosses Dean’s mind he’s up, he’s out of his room, he’s slipping down to the other end of the hallway and he’s stopping in front of Sam’s room. He manages to wrest control of his body back from wherever it had gone, stopping himself from actually entering his brother’s room, fingers resting on the doorknob. The door is closed and Dean can’t see any light coming out from under it; Sam’s either sleeping or not there. If Sam’s sleeping, he’ll be up and wide awake before Dean even finishes turning the doorknob- a combination of a lifetime of being a hunter and just simply being an absurdly light sleeper. If Sam’s not there, then, well, he’s not there. Either way, there’s no point going into his room.

Even after coming to that conclusion, Dean still stands there for a few moments before he forces himself to step back, once again firmly reassuring himself that Sam is alive, Sam is safe, Sam is probably (hopefully) sleeping soundly. It would be good for the kid to get a good night’s- or days? Dean was never sure what time of day it was; the Bunker was mostly underground with no windows, something that seemed to annoy Sam but never really bothered Dean -sleep, because he sure as (hah) hell wouldn’t be getting much in the weeks to come, not after the retraumatizing events of the past few days.

He belatedly realizes that he’s still in the clothes he’d been wearing in the Apocalypse World- he wrinkles his nose and reluctantly starts back down the hallway and back to his room. Their rooms aren’t far from each other- a lifetime of sharing motel rooms and sometimes beds made it hard to be too far from each other. Dean firmly derailed that train of thought, because the last thing he wanted to end up thinking about were the years he spent completely alone when Sam was at Stanford, and if Dean had just sucked it up and _hadn’t gotten his brother involved-_

But, then again, Sam being Lucifer’s perfect vessel he would have gotten pulled back in anyways. Better by Dean than by angels or demons, Dean supposed.

Having changed into blessedly soft, clean clothes, no longer stiff with sweat, blood, dirt or grime- those were thrown carelessly into a corner in his room, he’d take care of them later -Dean wandered out into the still empty hallway, unsure of what to do with himself. Now that he was paying attention to his less immediate surroundings, he heard soft voices coming from a few rooms around him, and tried not to be unsettled by the thought of dozens of strangers suddenly occupying his home. _Their_ home.

His indecision on where to go- what to even _do_ now that he wasn’t running on constant adrenaline and terror -was solved by a horrible gnawing pang from his stomach, and the realization that all he’d had food-wise in the past two days was a bowl of soup and some measly provisions they had taken with them. That and Cas replenishing them, but those things always wore off.

So, still uncertain but shrugging a little to himself, he directed his steps down the familiar path to the kitchen. He ran into no one, yet still he acutely felt the presence of _people_ \- felt it in the scuff of dirt that must have come from someone’s boot on the ground, in the coating of grey dust that was unmistakably from the other world on the wall where someone must have leaned, in the little black thread hanging on a nail- it must’ve gotten caught when someone was passing by. Dean knew this place well- or at least this floor. Down to the one lightbulb they could never get to stop flickering, down to the chipped corner brick that would scrape you if you passed too close to it, down to which door hinges squeaked and that one weirdly shiny spot on the floor of the hallway outside the library. And so of course these tiny, tiny, almost inconspicuous details jumped out at him, nagged at his attention.

It was pretty off putting. 

What was probably even more off putting, however, was the scene he was presented with when he entered the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. There was nothing overly special about it- Mary was at the stove- cooking, it seemed -Charlie and Bobby, both now also wearing clean clothes were sitting across from each other speaking in low, easy voices at the table, and Jack was leaning on the counter a few feet away from Mary, hands wrapped around a steaming mug, eyes closed. Maybe it was the simple _domesticity_ of it that rooted Dean to the spot, only able to look on, not wanting to intrude. The last time he’d seen something like this would have to have been at Lisa’s, he guessed, and before that- well before that, only in the vague memories of a four year old who had no idea he should cherish what he had. Sure, they’ve lived here for years now, but it’s mostly been the two of them and Cas. Cas wasn’t always around much, and Sam- well, Dean still wasn’t sure Sam considered this a home. Sam mostly limited himself to his room, the library, the kitchen, and exploring storerooms in the lower floors.

This, what he was looking at now- it looked like an honest to god _family_.

“Dean.” Mary had noticed him first, having turned away from the stove to rummage in a drawer at the island behind her. Her face breaks out into a relieved smile. Dean refuses to feel guilty for passing out earlier. “You’re awake.”

“I’m.” He manages lamely. “Yeah.” 

Charlie grins and waves him over, scooting down a little on the bench, and he makes his feet move, carrying him into the room.

He’s still staring at Mary.

And _are you okay_ , he wants to say. _I can’t believe you’re actually here,_ and _you’ve no idea how much we’ve missed you._ What he says instead is: “Sam.”

Mary smiles that soft smile again like she was expecting this. “He’s still sleeping. He’s okay.” She assures him, turning back towards her… whatever she was making. “I’m making pancakes,” oh. “Do you want any?”

“Sure, thanks.” He hears himself answer, slowly lowering himself down to sit next to Charlie, returning Jack's smile from across the room. He feels Bobby eye him before picking his conversation with Charlie back up, and Dean just sits there, letting the slow, controlled, unhurried actions of everyone around him, such a stark difference from how everything and everyone was back in the other world, wash over him.

“Ketch.” He says at length, when there’s a lull in Charlie and Bobby’s conversation. “Is he alright?” Dean knew he’d been treated back at the camp before they’d left, but the guy hadn’t looked to be in very good shape when Dean had briefly seen him going through the rift. “And the others.” Dean added after a second.

“Ketch’s fine.” Bobby waved a hand. “This bunker of yours could reopen as a damn hospital it’s so well stocked. He’n a few of the others who were injured are restin’ up in the infirmary I think. I had Andy go with ‘em. Everyone else,” Bobby nodded towards the hallway in the direction of the rooms. “Mary’n your angel were quick to give ‘em rooms. They’ve mostly stayed in there, recuperating over the past day. We wanted to wait to do anything until you or that brother of yours was up; this is your place after all.”

Oh. That was… probably a good idea. All the years they’ve lived here and they still hadn’t explored the entire place; having people with no idea about cursed objects or anything supernatural other than angels and demons wandering around the place would definitely not have ended well.

Dean was silent for a few moments, nodding. “Cas?” He asked. 

“The angel? He’s with the witch, in the library I think.” Charlie shrugged. “They’ve been in there most of the past day. Saw them with an archangel blade. Dunno what they’re doing.”

Dean nodded again, before the words both Charlie and Bobby had used caught up to him. “Wait, _day_? How long was I asleep?”

“Asleep,” Bobby snorted. “Boy you were completely passed out; swear we thought you were dead there for a bit. Don’t know how you’re already up.” He shook his head. “‘Bout twenty six hours.” He answered Dean’s question.

Twenty six… yeah, that made sense. Hunters rarely got eight hours of sleep, but with them it was either sleep for a day, stay awake for three or catch a two hour nap every twenty four hours. Dean was suddenly really glad Sam was still asleep; he was going to make sure his brother stayed that way for as long as possible.

Rowena and Cas- he needed to talk to Rowena. And Cas. Make sure they were alright, although he knew they could take care of themselves. At least thank Rowena. And Cas- the past few weeks had had Dean seeing little of the seraph, missing the angel’s company.

And now that- everything -was more or less dealt with; or, more accurately, now that they didn’t have any world ending threats breathing down their necks, Dean could finally have time to enjoy the angel’s presence.

“What about Gabriel?” Dean suddenly remembered. Remembered the bleeding, shining, hole in the youngest- and now _only_ , and wasn't that really something? -archangel's side, remembered the slash in his thigh, both wounds singing with grace. Remembered the wrong angle of his shoulder. Gabriel had already been weak, low on grace, and now... “The other angel. Archangel.” Dean clarified at Bobby and Charlie’s raised eyebrows.

The two former resistance leaders glanced at each other, then back to Dean, shrugging in unison. “I don’t know,” Charlie frowned. “He kinda disappeared. I honestly forgot about him.”

Bobby shook his head. “I haven’t seen ‘im. Not since he came through the rift.”

Now that was concerning, but only slightly, Dean decided. If there was anything Dean’d learned about god’s messenger, it was that if Gabriel wanted company, he’d seek it out. Sure, he was talkative, loud, obnoxious, but he seemed to also value his privacy and alone time. Dean guessed he’d gone off to lick his wounds on his own. It stung slightly, and Dean had no idea why, that the archangel didn’t trust them to help him, but Dean grudgingly accepted that Gabriel had been on his own for thousands of years; he probably both preferred dealing with his shit on his own and was used to it.

Dean looked up at Jack, but the nephilim just shook his head in answer to Dean’s silent question.

Whatever. If Gabriel needed help he’d show up. If anything, they could pray to him.

Seeing that Dean was seemingly done with the interrogation, Bobby spoke. “Wanted to talk to you ‘bout somethin’.” He paused and Dean glanced up as Mary came over, setting down a plate of steaming, absolutely delicious looking golden brown pancakes- the last time he’d seen anything resembling this was, hell, probably when he was a four year old, Mary cutting his into bite sized pieces. He accepted the empty plate and fork she held out to him with a thanks and reached for the food, dragging one off the top of the stack and grabbing the bottle of syrup from next to Charlie where she’d set it down carefully avoiding the sticky spots, pouring out a generous amount onto his plate.

“Yeah?” He asked, prompting Bobby to continue.

Bobby shifted to the right a little, making room for Jack who had drifted over to them. “I was thinking,” he started, “that before we start with all the process of settlin’ these people down, introducin’ them into this world, figurin’ out what we’re gonna do with ourselves now, we should celebrate. Say a few words.”

Dean blinked. “You’re saying you wanna throw a party?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Call it what you want, Winchester. But these people- all they’ve been doin’ the past decade s’been fighting. This is the biggest win we’ve _ever_ gotten- hell, this is _the_ win. We won.” Bobby shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “We’ve won,” he continued, “but we’ve lost a hell of a lot of people along the way, good people, and now we’re suddenly in a whole ‘nother world that we know nothin’ about. It’ll do ‘em good to feel like we’ve _actually_ won, maybe get a little more comfortable.” He looked at Dean as if daring him to deny his next words. “It would do you ‘n your brother some good to relax a bit as well. Besides-” Bobby swirled his drink emphatically “-you’ve got good liquor. I for one haven’t had stuff this nice since 0’9, at least.” Bobby followed that up by draining his glass, then reaching for a pancake himself, sliding the plate over so that Jack could reach.

Dean considered his words. It would be good to gather everyone up, he supposed. Make them feel like they’ve won, because Dean wasn’t sure that they did. Feel that way, that is. It would be a good opportunity to lay down a few rules, too, because it seemed like until they figured out places for people to go, figured out what people even wanted to _do_ , they’d be staying here. And while here was certainly safer than anywhere else, it wasn’t without its dangers.

So Dean found himself nodding again, agreeing. Charlie volunteered herself and someone named Ammon to go with Mary for more food and clothing, and the function was scheduled for tonight- Dean was then informed that it was currently almost three in the morning. Having eaten, Mary and Charlie went- somewhere, Dean wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard something about hacking and credit cards, so he assumed they were dealing with the Winchesters’ ever present Money Problem. Bobby got up shortly after their departure to go inform the refugees of their plans and their future, leaving Dean alone with a silent Jack.

And- _god_ , Jack. Not even two years old and he’d fought a _war_ , killed Michael literally yesterday, and then watched his biological father die before his eyes.

Unable to find anything better to say, Dean heard a lame “you good?” come out of his mouth.

Jack looked up at him then, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to meet the nephilim’s eyes. “I’m… good.” Jack said. Dean nearly scoffed. Yeah, and Sam was short. Right. In all fairness, it had been a stupid question, but Dean- Dean was so not qualified to deal with this, damnit.

He still owed it to the kid to try, though.

So- “it’s okay if you’re not,” he found himself saying. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t be. Just-” Dean passed a hand over his face, staring intently at his now empty plate. “I mean, I can’t speak for Sam. Or anyone else, although I’m sure they’d say the same, but me- you can, you can talk. To me. If you want, or, or need to.”

“I know. I….” Jack looks at him, all wide, somehow earnest yet doubtful eyes, and for a second Dean, absurdly, sees Sam, barely twenty four years old, calling himself a freak in the passenger seat of the Impala. “I can talk to _you_.” Jack continues. “But I- I can’t-” He cuts himself off. “I shouldn’t even be _around_ Sam,” Jack says, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the look of utter pain that fills Jack’s eyes at that statement. “I’m Lucifer’s _son_ -” Jack says, like the realization or implications are just now hitting him, “why has he let me stay? I-”

“Jack. No. Stop. Just-” Dean cuts the nephilim off. “Listen, Sam doesn’t see it that way, okay? He’s said so himself. To me. And you-” Dean closes his eyes, shaking his head, wishing he had said this to that Sam all those years ago.

He couldn’t go back to that moment, but he could at least say it now, to Jack.

“Your blood, your- your _powers_ , what you come from, that doesn’t matter, Jack, it just doesn’t. Sure, they might not necessarily be… nice things, but they don’t make you good or bad. At all, Jack. Just like I said about Lucifer, back there, that him being your father- it doesn’t mean anything. He gave you your powers and gave you your life, but that does _not_ dictate if you’re good or evil. Besides he’s- dead, now.” Dean’s voice faltered. “And it’s alright to, to have complicated feelings about that.”

“I’m, I’m not- mourning Lucifer.” Jack said hesitantly. “I mean. I barely knew him. He held a blade to my throat.” Dean winced in sympathy. Jack continued. “And I’m not saying you’re wrong, but- I think, I mean, Sam, he-” Jack frowned. “Sometimes, when I’d get angry, he’d… get scared. More than, than you or Castiel. That’s because of Lucifer, but it’s because of me, too.”

“Kid…” Dean sighed. “It’s really not. It’s not your fault. And I can’t… there’s some things I’m not gonna say without Sam’s permission. The things Lucifer did… yeah, they were bad. Really damn bad. But Jack. _Lucifer_ did that. Sam isn’t scared of _you_ , and he never has been. Trust me.”

“You’re wanted here, okay? You’re part of our family. Jack, you _are_.”

Jack, who’d been staring at his hands, finger twisting together, looked back up at Dean. And Dean thought that maybe, just maybe, the kid believed him.

And then suddenly everything’s too much again, his brain deciding that this was a perfect moment to remind him of everything that’s happened, that still will happen, that needs to be dealt with, and he abruptly stands. “I’m gonna,” he breathes in, out. Plasters on a smile that he hopes looks more real than it feels. “I’m gonna go look for Gabriel.” He lies. Jack nods and then Dean’s out of the room, and he doesn’t remember walking anywhere or opening any doors or even consciously deciding to go to the garage but suddenly he’s encased in the warm, welcoming metal of the Impala, one hand resting on the inside of the closed car door and the other gripping his knee. He forces his hands onto the wheel, reveling in the familiarity of it, leans back into the seat, the leather embracing him, closes his eyes. Reminds himself again that Sam is safe, Sam is _alive_ , so are Mary and Jack and Cas and Ketch and Rowena and Gabriel, probably, and hell, they even got Bobby and Charlie out of the deal.

They were safe, they were alive, but they weren’t _okay_ , Jack wasn’t okay and Dean wasn’t okay and _Sam_ -

Dean remembered the checking out, the nightmares, the Enochian pleading- none of which had ever really gone away, even years after Sam got out of the Cage, got away from Lucifer. It had only grown worse in the last two years, ever since they’d had to work together with said archangel to defeat the Darkness. Before then, Dean’d thought it’d been getting better- Cas had taken the crazy but left the memories, and sure Dean’s brother still flinched horribly at loud noises and the nightmares had been on a whole ‘nother level, but he at least hadn’t been going insane. Now, however, and to be honest ever since he’d gotten back from Purgatory, Dean’d noticed Sam’s constant fiddling with his palm scar, flitting eyes, flinching at nothing.

But Sam had said nothing about it, and it hadn’t really been getting worse, and they had had crisis after crisis hurled at them until it had all faded into the background, into Sam just being _like that._

But ever since the days of Lucifer living in the Bunker with them, and then the fact that he was _out there_ hanging over their heads, it had quickly taken a nosedive- Dean strongly suspected Sam’d put a silencing charm over his room via some spell, because Dean hadn’t heard a single sound from in there in over a year but what else could explain Sam constantly being up before the sun rose, before four in the morning, before three in the morning, pouring over lore that had nothing to do with whatever case they were currently on, or intently studying a wall while his hands flew over already immaculate gun pieces, expertly sliding them apart and fitting them back together, over and over and over and over, if not nightmares?

Dean leaned his head against the steering wheel. His hands were shaking, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about that just now. All he could focus on was breathing, and telling himself that Sam was alive, and everyone else too, and they were safe in the Bunker, and maybe they were the furthest from okay that they could possibly be, but it beat being dead.

Death was static. Death was unchanging. Death was a fixed point. When you were dead, the only changes you could go through were the slow decompositions of your body.

But alive, alive they could grow. Heal, maybe. At least get better.

Dean focused on telling himself that as the first tear slipped down his cheek, followed by dozens more. Silent sobs, weak shudders, knuckles white from how hard they were gripping the wheel, he told himself again and again that they were _alive_ , which was at least for now the only thing that mattered.

They were _alive_ , and that was a good thing. It was.

It was.

~~~*~~~

“He looks- I don’t know, _different_ , somehow.” Mary’s voice sounded from beside him above the quiet babble of chatter in the room, shocking him a little. He looked up from his drink, surveying her as she leaned against the far wall of the library next to him, a few feet away from the wall cavity holding their giant telescope.

The room was brightly lit, but this was a relatively dim corner with not many people in it. Dean had been- he wouldn’t say hiding, necessarily -standing here with his drink, relatively alone for a good ten minutes, lost in thought. Bobby’s celebration had been a really good idea, he conceded, as he looked out over the people mingling in the library and war room and saw considerably less tension, less stress, less frowns. People were talking, laughing, _enjoying_ themselves for the first time in what was probably years for some of them.

They had gathered here, most of the refugees uncertainly being drawn from their rooms, a few hours earlier. Bobby had spoken, had toasted to _them_ , Sam and Dean, and they’d dispersed, some breaking into friendly conversation, most going immediately for the food and alcohol. Gabriel had shown up an hour or two ago, looking pale and like he could use a few good hours of sleep, but hiding his obvious discomfort behind a wide, somewhat real looking smile. Dean had spent a solid hour or two with Cas, with Ketch, with Rowena, with Bobby and Charlie and people whose names he didn’t yet know. 

And Sam.

Coming back from the garage that morning, Dean had found Sam in his room upon entering it, making him pretty thankful that he’d stopped at a sink in one of the showers to splash water on his face, washing away any evidence of his breakdown in the Impala. It turned out that it didn’t much matter, though. When he entered Sam was completely checked out, staring at a wall and practically demolishing his palm with his thumb. It’d taken Dean a good few minutes to get him somewhat present, silently celebrating when recognition sparked in the younger Winchester’s eyes. Sam, for his part, had latched onto his older brother as soon as his eyes had focused, muttering something in a language Dean didn’t understand and burying his head in Dean’s chest. Dean had reciprocated, wrapping his brother up in his arms and holding him.

They hadn’t said a word about Lucifer, or much else that had happened on the other world, even once Sam had more or less come back to himself. Sam had hesitantly asked about Jack and Gabriel, and upon hearing that the latter hadn’t been seen in over a day had left to go look for him.

Dean didn’t know if his brother had been successful in his search for the archangel. By the time Sam had gone it was almost twelve, somehow, and Dean had numbly forced down some lunch under Castiel’s stern glare before helping Mary, Charlie, and a young dark haired refugee named Ammon unpack and distribute clothing and food to the rest of the refugees, some of which had taken to mingling about in the hallways, obviously unsure of what to do with themselves. Dean recognized Maggie, returning her smile when he passed by where she was mingling with two other refugees her age.

After that Dean spent his time roving through the Bunker locking any doors that shouldn’t have random strangers wandering through them, and maybe in the vain hope of finding his brother, or at least Gabriel, who might have some idea of where Sam was. He didn't come across either, however, and the only thing he heard about Sam for the rest of the evening had been when Rowena had cornered Dean, asking about his brother's whereabouts.

He obviously hadn’t been able to help her much with that. It seemed like Sam had decided to pull a Gabriel and duck out until he was needed, and sure enough, the next time Dean saw Sam was late evening, showing up once everyone was gathered in the war room, wearing more layers than should have been needed to feel warm in the Bunker, coming to stand next to Dean. Too many layers aside, however, he did look a lot better than he had in the morning- less pale, and he’d obviously taken a shower at some point, any lingering dirt or dust now gone from his skin, and his hair was no longer the endearing mess it had been. All in all he looked more alert, even managing to throw Dean a somewhat convincing “I’m Fine” smile.

“Dean, are you alright?” Mary once again brought Dean back to the present, and he belatedly realized that she’d asked a question.

Which he hadn’t answered.

Whoops.

“Hmm? Yeah, m’fine.” He threw here a quick smile, downing his drink. “What’d you say?”

Mary didn’t look convinced, but shook her head, visibly filing the situation away for later. “I said he looks different.” She nodded at Sam, across the room. “I can’t put my finger on what it is.”

Dean looks over to where Sam is sitting, with Gabriel- the archangel had immediately gravitated towards the youngest Winchester upon slipping into the room, so Dean assumed Sam had maybe found him after all -and Castiel and Bobby and Charlie, a few other refugees Dean vaguely recognized- was that Andy? -laughing with them. Dean watches Sam sit up, saying something, grinning, then leaning in to hear something Gabriel said. Scooting over slightly and making room as Jack joins them, welcoming a hesitant Maggie in as well. Accepting a drink with a smiled thanks from Ketch, who drops into an empty seat. Sam lifts his head as Bobby and Charlie laugh at something Cas said, Gabriel rolling his eyes fondly, Jack frowning curiously and leaning in, question on his lips. Dean sees Rowena come over to join them, fancy glass in hand, amused smile on her face. Sam grins up at her, then finally looks across the library as if he can sense Dean’s gaze on him- and, hell, the kid probably _can_ -and as their eyes meet, Dean is startled to see something in them he hadn’t seen since- fuck, since maybe that night he busted into Sam’s apartment at Stanford, since Jessica died.

And- yeah, Dean realizes.

Sam does look different.

“He looks happy.” He tells Mary, with no small amount of wonder. And yeah, Sam’s eyes still flick around more than usual, landing on things that aren’t there, and at some point during the function he apparently decided to forgo the subtlety of wearing multiple layers and just straight up donned a jacket- and this was actually _his_ jacket, not the one they’d gotten from the pile of spares in the other world, in the camp in Dayton -and Sam was still a mess if the subtle brushing of his thumb against the scar on his palm every now and then was anything to go by. And they still had a lot ahead of them; they’d need to sit Mary and Jack down, figure out what to tell them, how to answer all the questions Dean knew they had, although Dean had a suspicion that while both of them were curious, neither would push too hard. They would have to help the refugees, teach them about this world, figure out what to do with the ones who wanted to keep hunting and how to set up the ones that wanted to settle down with as normal a life as they could. They would have to corner Gabriel and make sure the archangel was really okay- he looked fine now, but the fact that he was still sticking around was a potential red flag. (Dean had, however, heard the archangel speaking with Cas about returning to Heaven. He’d walked past, pretending he hadn’t heard anything. The conversation had felt like something he shouldn’t intrude on; private.) And they would, of course, eventually, have to broach the topic of Lucifer. Dean didn’t know how much everybody else knew about what had happened on the other side of the rift, in the time after the refugees had made it through to the Bunker and before Sam, Dean, Gabriel and Jack had fallen through. Dean hadn’t been asked about Lucifer _or_ Michael, and he knew Sam hadn’t either. Since no one had seen Gabriel until pretty much now, he doubted the archangel had said anything either, and Jack hadn’t seemed very willing to talk about it earlier. So, really, it was possible none of the former resistance even knew that Michael was dead, let alone Lucifer. And they deserved to. They deserved to know about Michael and Rowena and Cas deserved to know about Lucifer. Because Lucifer was dead, _actually dead_ , by Sam’s hand.

Dean wasn’t looking forward to any of that. He knew Sam couldn’t possibly be, either. The following months would be hell, Dean knew.

But Dean also knew that they were _alive_.

They were- _all of them_ -alive.

And that?

Yeah, Dean decided.

That was a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> [@widowronin](https://widowronin.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
